In Every Life I've Lived: (2) 893

[hermiones]

Title: (2) 893
Fandom: JE
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: Man, this is turning seriously EPIC. And miserable. Sorry about that. Previous disclaimers apply: this is truly the craziest thing I've ever written, but I'm enjoying it so much. The next part will hopefully be less with the angst, more with the sex. One word: orgies. ;) Oh, and the title for this chapter is explained well here.
Warnings: Supernatural, some disturbing content, scenes of sex.



In Every Life I've Lived
(2) 893

The problem with wanting to run the country someday is that it's exhausting. If you haven't vices before you start, you develop them along the way. Johnny Kitagawa comes under both categories: he had vices before but running for Prime Minister exaggerates them. He categorizes his weaknesses: smoking and drinking aren't brilliant, but not career-sinkers, mistresses are positively good news (unless his wife finds out) and his vehement dislike of healthy food, not too much of a problem. The rampant desire for good looking members of his party? Not so good. The rampant desire for young, male good looking members of his party? Very bad.

Besides that, the gambling addiction really doesn't look all that bad.

Ironically, the reason he ends up in hot water is the second. Gambling. He can't remember when it started. He's always been a man to want to test the odds. Possibly it's a power thing: defeat the odds, you become greater than any other man alive. He's always liked power. That's the reason he ends up in hot water. He squanders a large sum of sponsorship, corporate backing, money he can't get back. Not only that, the casino bosses really don't it when people don't pay up. It's not as if Johnny Kitagawa can just ask for a handout. He's one of the most well-known MPs currently standing position in Japan. So, he does the only thing that he can think of.

When the first set of yakuza are sent out, Johnny Kitagawa assesses the odds. The head honcho's new recruit is young, not that experienced. Maybe 25 at the most. Delicious. He doesn't expect reciprocation, really. The point of the blowjob is merely to curry favour. That and well, rampant desire for good looking males.

Despite his obvious prowess, the hopeful blowjob doesn't work, and word leaks out into the gangster world that one of Japan's more prestigious MPs gives blowjobs for favours. It's a lot worse than being in hot water for gambling. For that, Johnny Kitagawa realises that he could have asked for a handout. A little less pride, a little more forethought: it could have been done. For this, for sucking off a young professional, he can ask for nothing. No help whatsoever.

In short, he's fucked.


They sit around in Akasaka Mitsuke, the men. There are seven of them. Johnny Kitagawa, though he doesn't know it yet, is fucked in seven individual ways. The head yakuza is the brother of the casino owner. The rest are hand-picked, each exemplary in intimidation, reconnaissance and torture.

“What do his outstanding debts come to?” One of the yakuza asks. He's called Takauji, but this isn't his real name. The group name themselves, somewhat ironically, after different Japanese shoguns. This one of the yakuza, the youngest, is called Takauji. The rest sit around a makeshift table, rain dripping through the ceiling of the building and pooling in the corners.

The head of the group calls himself Ieyasu. He is tall, bright-eyed, not altogether intimidating at first glimpse. He isn't the sort of man you'd expect to be a gangster. There's something about his face that's vivacious, ambitious, pleased with his own life. There are no lines on his face.

“His debts,” he says, grandly. “Outnumber anything we've seen before. This guy is the real deal.¥57,360,979. Half a million US dollars. We're going to have a field day on this one.”

“Isn't this guy some MP? Trying to rule the country, isn't he?” Ienobu says. He's slight, weak-looking, but his eyes are sharp.

“Yep,” Ieyasu says. “That's him. Turns out, he doesn't only have trouble managing his finances. You've heard what he did when our young recruit was sent out to put a little fear in him?”

There's nods around the table, slow, dark. Nobody is pleased about this. It undermines their power, for one thing, and a split in the chain is never a good thing for them. Secondly, it implies things about their recruits, social things, behavioural things, homosexual things that aren't relevant to the cause. All of them know the drill. The life, the job, they come first. Everything else is just background noise, to be kept as quiet as humanly possible.

“In any normal case,” Ieyasu continues. “I'd say we just go in, threaten to kill his loved ones, you know the drill. But I don't think he has any loved ones, a man like that. We'd have to go on verbal threat to his person, and that's no fun.”

“Yeah,” Takauji says. “Last time we did that, they didn't even cry. It was shocking.”

“The worst we can do to this man is to damage his reputation,” Ieyasu goes on. “And even then, he'd recover. Politicians always do, they're like snakes. Cut off a head and another one grows. We can't prove anything. And if we tried, well, it wouldn't look good on our side. It wasn't as if Tego pushed him off, let's face it.”

“Well,” Yoshinori says. He's young, too, but thoughtful. Quick. “There must be something. Men like that don't get where they are without some kind of network. There must be somebody close to him. Something that'd damage him.”

“Honestly,” Ieyasu says. “I think the best way to do it isn't to think too much about it. Figure out the individuals closest to him, hunt them down and hurt them. It'll be a calling card. If he doesn't want to appease us after that, then we find and pick a couple more. Soon, he'll have to give in, or have no campaign left.”

“That's true,” Ienobu grins. “The one reputation you don't recover from is one responsible for a whole lot of killing. It's a nasty business.”

“Don't we know it,” Ieyasu says. “Find me his closest associates. I want profiles, last knowns, interesting stuff. If they have girlfriends, wives, kids, I want to know about it. Report back to me in twelve hours.”


Yamapi loads up the car outside the apartment. He's looking forward to a weekend away after the last few days. Protecting a damaged reputation is nasty business and he hasn't slept very well. The main problem with helping to run somebody else's campaign is that you take their sleeplessness for very little payoff. Johnny Kitagawa has slept soundly these last couple of days. It's important for him to put on a fresh face every day. Not so much for the likes of Yamapi, and Jin.

“Jin,” he yells up, toward the apartment window. Jin sticks his head out. He's wearing his t-shirt around his neck, not yet pulled down. He looks ridiculous.

“Have you packed the food?” he yells. “You're not eating it, are you?”

“I'm not eating it,” Jin yells back. “Who do you think I am? It's in the fridge still.”

His head retreats and Yamapi rolls his eyes. “I think you're the kind of person who'd eat all the food,” he grouches to himself. “Based on past experience.”

Jin hasn't been himself lately. Yamapi initially thought it was because he was tired, too, from all the campaign work they've been doing, but it seemed to start before that. There's nothing overt or physical about it. He doesn't look tired, drained, ill: just a little faded. As if some of the colour has been drawn out of him. It's strange to see it, and Yamapi is hoping that a weekend away will do the pair of them some good.

Once he's finished loading the car with their bags, Yamapi takes the stairs two at a time to help Jin with the food. There's a lot of it, because they're compulsive nibblers and neither of them know when they'll be stopping for dinner. Jin is staring out of the window, fiddling with a chain around his neck. His hand is on the glass, and there's a shape in the condensation, an imprint of it. When he pulls it back, his hand is wet. He turns it over, looks at it, as if he's never seen it before.

“Jin?” Yamapi asks. His voice is tentative as he walks over. Jin turns his head, a bit vacantly, as if he's only heard the sound and not acknowledged Yamapi's presence. Yamapi stands behind him in the cold, empty room and wraps his arms around his waist. Resting his chin on Jin's shoulder, he squeezes just the once.

“We'll get away for a bit,” he says. “Take your mind off things.”

Jin nods, slowly. “Yeah,” he says, beginning to smile. “That'd be nice.”

“You're just tired,” Yamapi says. As if saying it could make it true. “You need to rest.”

“I think so,” Jin says. Yamapi turns him around, slowly, by the waist, until they're looking at each other and Yamapi can see just how colourless Jin really looks. He leans forward and kisses him, gentle and worried, until Jin wraps his arms around Yamapi's neck and things feel better again.

“Have you got the food?” Yamapi asks.

“It's in the fridge,” Jin replies, distractedly. “I tried to find the cooling box, but I got cold.”

“No problem,” Yamapi says. He strides over, looks in the cupboard underneath the sink. “I've got it.”

He rummages through the fridge, slowly packing items into the cooling box. Jin turns around again, looking out of the window. Yamapi doesn't like to ask what he's looking at. It seems intrusive, cruel. It doesn't really matter what he's looking at, at the end of the day. There's just a part of Yamapi that feels that Jin is slipping away from him, and simple questions like those are ways of reconnecting.

“Do you want me to take juice?” he asks. “There's peach. You like peach.”

“Yeah,” Jin says. “Take the peach. I like peach.”

Yamapi packs the peach juice. He packs sandwiches and biscuits and bananas. Some cold meat, some cold apples. It'll keep them going. He fixes the top on the cooling box and, swinging it from one hand, reaches for Jin's with the other. “We should go,” he says. “If you're done.”

“Huh?” Jin says. “Oh, sorry, yeah. I was just looking.”

“Anything interesting?” Yamapi says, trying to keep his voice jovial. He finds his coat, passes Jin's to him. The rack looks empty without them. The whole apartment looks too white, too clean, too spacious. As if nobody lives there anymore. Very, very strange.

“No,” Jin says, after a pause. “Somebody was lighting candles in the apartment across the street. It was pretty.”

“I'm glad I got you away,” Yamapi says, dryly. “Candles mean sex. I don't think they'd have appreciated you watching.”

Jin laughs, soft and under his breath. “I love candles,” he says.

“You do?”

“I like the smoke.”

It's something Yamapi didn't know. He makes a mental note of it, wonders where he could get candles from along the way.

“I didn't know that,” he says, as they walk down the stairs.

“I've always liked candles,” Jin says. “It's the smoke. The way it sort of draws a picture in the air. Didn't I tell you?”


Unsurprisingly, Yoshinori is the one to come up with the goods. The group meet up again at the Hotel New Japan and some of them look more triumphant than others. Ienobu doesn't look at all pleased: he's had a difficult day down at the law offices.

“Well?” Ieyasu says, steepling his fingers at the end of the table. “What have you for me?”

Yoshinori smirks and pushes a file across the table. It's red-bound, thick, full of information. Ieyasu takes a moment to leaf through it, nodding with pleasure at the detail Yoshinori has managed to procure.

“Impressive,” he says, as he turns the pages. “Very impressive.”

Ienobu opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

“Yamashita Tomohisa and Akanishi Jin,” Ieyasu says. “You're sure?”

“Definite,” Yoshinori says. “Those are his campaign managers. He can't take a piss without consulting them first. Those are the ones you want first.”

“Good,” Ieyasu says. “Good work. You'll be rewarded, expect it.”

Yoshinori smiles, indulgently. Ienobu rolls his eyes.

“Do I know Akanishi Jin?” Ieyasu asks, suddenly. His eyes are slightly unfocused, as if the pupils have retreated into his brain to find the missing name. “I feel I've heard it before.”

The others think, hard. It's Ienobu's chance to shine: he's been around longer than Yoshinori. He knows more names, has seen more scandals and more successes, more failures. More of everything. But try as he might, he can't locate the missing name. Luckily for him, Yoshinori too seems to be struggling. Eventually, when no response is forthcoming, Ieyasu waves his hand.

“No matter,” he says. “It'll come to me. This is a good beginning. Yoshinori, I'll send you out to find them. Take Ienobu. The rest will remain behind to keep track of the progress of our victims, and to inform Yoshinori and Ienobu of their moves. Is that understood?”

It's a good beginning. Ieyasu sleeps soundly that night, as Yoshinori and Ienobu shoot out into the dark.


They drive for some hours, Yamapi and Jin. Jin eats, stares out of the window. He's content. Sometimes, he winds down the glass and lets the air in, dangles his fingers out. Exactly as he used to do as a child, Yamapi supposes. They didn't know each other as children. They met somewhat later in life, teenagers, maybe. It might have been university. Yamapi's not entirely sure which year. He remembers the exact night, but not the year.

“Just remembering the night we met,” he says. There's a laugh in the words.

Jin looks across, narrows his eyes with thought. “There was that drunken party, at the lake. We'd travelled for hours to get there and when we got there, it was dull and dark and rubbish.”

“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “I was trying to pull.”

“I remember her. She was really nice.”

“She was okay,” Yamapi says. “We were getting along fine, and then someone fell into the water. Stupid. Was it Shirota? I don't remember. I had to pull them out, and she went off with someone else.”

“It was Shirota,” Jin says, thoughtfully. “I think. Could have been me. Maybe. I don't remember. It sounds like something I'd do. It sounds like something we'd both do.”

“We talked, somebody was wet,” Yamapi laughs. “That's all I remember. I'm glad I went. I'm glad she went off with someone else.”

“Me too,” Jin says, idly. He scratches his fingers down the glass. He looks hungry but he refuses the offer of dinner. Not late enough yet, he doesn't think. Yamapi keeps driving. Jin can drive but Yamapi doesn't trust him with it. Not at the moment. A good night of sleep will help, he's hoping. If it doesn't, then he's not sure what he'll do. But that's tomorrow's business.


Eventually, it gets dark, really dark. Dark enough so that they've missed dinner, dark enough to keep driving. Jin is already asleep. His breath covers the window with a soft layer. Yamapi imagines that it's foam, like the caps of the sea. His fingers are resting there, they've drawn little islands with their pads. He's snoring.

There's not much to go on on the highway. Yamapi had thought that the lake was closer than this. It seemed that way, back at university. The last, small hotel was forty-five miles ago. After about five or ten minutes, he passes another sign for one, and slows down. It's time to go to bed. They can do the remaining miles in the morning, when it'll be better weather for the views. Jin's always liked nature: it'll be better for him to see it by day.

It's hard, to wake Jin up. He doesn't want to do anything but sleep. When they climb out of the car and away, he leans on Yamapi, yawning. Yamapi has to nudge him off and make him take his bag, and he pouts like it's the very worst task in the whole world. It's half jest, prompted by Yamapi's begrudging smile, and they jostle as they walk through the hotel entrance. Yamapi feels sorry for the receptionist, as the clock says 10.20pm and she looks tired. As tired as he feels.

“Please, do you have rooms?” he says. His voice comes out croaked, and he hopes it lends his plea some credit. She looks them both up and down.

“Hotel's pretty empty, this time of year,” she says. “Presidential campaign and all. One night, is it? We've singles, twins...”

“Double,” Yamapi says. He doesn't want a fuss. There's always a fuss. Stupid, Japanese hotels.

“Are you sure, sir? Our twins are just as reasonable...”

“It's not the price,” he says, brusquely. Jin is standing by the entrance, looking at leaflets advertising theme parks, tours, ghost walks. “It's a double we're after. Specifically.”

She nods in a jilted, surprised sort of way and takes his credit card.

“Jin,” he calls over. “See if you can find a map. Are there maps of the area?”

“There'll be a complimentary map in your room, sir,” the receptionist says, tone somewhat less helpful. It's a response Yamapi is used to, and so he ignores it. Jin takes a stack of leaflets, he likes to look through them, even the attractions he'll never visit, and they head up to the room. It's on the top floor, naturally. The furthest away from all civilization. They take the lift, which stutters and jerks in a pleasingly cliched sort of way.

“I hope the lightbulb flickers,” Yamapi whispers, lips next to Jin's ear. Jin shivers, pleased.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because the rest of this place is just so...seedy. It'd fit, right?”

“It's just the way these places are, I think,” Jin says. He's pressing up against Yamapi, wanting less talk about hotels and more action in hotels. Hotel. Yamapi runs his free hand down Jin's back, feeling the warmth through his t-shirt. No longer sleepy, then. They exit the elevator, push through the door. The room is small, dark, but not unwelcoming. Cosy in a strange sort of way. They put the bags down on the carpet, Yamapi turns from the door and then-

Jin is kissing him. Kissing him in a way that plants him, back to the wall, at Jin's absolute mercy. Not that he's complaining. He runs his hands across Jin's face and kisses him back, equally hard. It's been a while. A month, possibly. They've both been so busy and Jin has been so odd, and he can't believe it's been that long, kissing Jin, because it's all so warm and so good.

He runs his hands down Jin's back and half-lifts him closer, as Jin presses his hips into Yamapi's. The door taps idly on its hinges, not properly closed. Yamapi pulls Jin's t-shirt off. Jin digs hands into Yamapi's trousers, working buttons and zippers and belts. And then he's down on his knees, Jin, all softness and light and warmth, with his mouth around Yamapi's dick like he's been waiting a month for it. Yamapi tilts his head back, a whoosh of breath leaving him out of the blue. He can feel himself hardening. Looking down, Jin is smirking around him. Triangular mouth. Big, dark eyes. Great, big heart.

“Fuck,” he says. “I've missed this.”

Something turns over in Jin's expression, subtle and instantaneous, as if pieces fall into place for a minute and then everything de-focuses once more. Jin smiles, when he's out of focus again. The moment of clarity is gone and Jin smiles again. Yamapi would ask, what happened in that moment, but Jin starts to suck, then, and all thought is lost.

Yamapi's breath comes harder and harder, his grip on Jin's hair tighter by the minute. Jin seems to relish this, though he never has before. The rougher Yamapi is, the harder and faster Jin sucks. His eyes are glued to Yamapi's face. There's darkness in them, but it isn't threatening. Just somehow alive. Yamapi cries out. Jin cries out, too, but it's quieter and it rumbles in the throat so that Yamapi can feel it in his cock. He throws his hand back against the door frame. It rattles, hard, and the door finally shuts with both their weights against it. As it does, a cool, hard slam, Jin's hand reaches over his. First it clamps down, hard. Then, it clasps, and they hold onto each other as Yamapi loses control completely.

The yelling, he thinks. He hopes they have no neighbours. His voice is hoarse. Jin is wet-mouthed and smiling again. He sits back on his heels, then lies back on the floor. Props himself up on his arms. Yamapi shrinks to the ground beside him, laughing and trying to breathe. He doesn't bother doing himself up.

He regrets this, some nine minutes, thirty three seconds later. Ten, then. Ten minutes. There's a weird tapping sound on the wall of the next room. It started a couple of minutes after they finished, but Yamapi wasn't conscious enough to realise it. Jin never notices small details, not at the moment. The tapping gets progressively louder, as if something is moving along the wall. Jin gets up, laughing, and follows the noise around. He twirls, and Yamapi watches him, glad.

Only then, the tapping leaves the wall altogether. The door to the room opens, and somebody walks out. Jin moves to the door, still giggling, and before Yamapi can say, “no, don't”, he's opened it. It's part of the game. He peeks his head out and a man turns back. He's wearing a white jacket, and there are red stains on it. Jin's eyes widen and he draws himself back, gasping as if he's just swallowed water.

“What?” Yamapi is saying. “What? What is it?”

And of course, he has to put his head around the door, too. That's when the man turns, full around. Time seems to go more slowly, until it crawls. Until it's barely moving at all. Three pair of eyes meet. The strange man's are wild and wide. There's blood on his face and hands. Yamapi thinks that he can see it fly from him as the man turns back, breaks into a run. He goes for the stairs. Yamapi can't even think. Jin slides down the wall. He can barely breathe.

That's the moment time speeds up. Chooses to leave the two of them caught in a horrendous moment whilst it whooshes past, every passing second making them guiltier and guiltier.

“What do we do?” Yamapi says. “What do we do? Fuck. Fuck. I don't. What's happening. Why is it happening. Police! We need to call. Jin, we need to call the police.”

Jin opens his eyes, and they're wet, and they're scared, and Yamapi can't think about that or he'll lose his nerve as well. He stumbles over him, and makes for the 'phone on the bedside table.


“There's been a problem,” Takauji reports. Not Ieyasu's favourite words, but he's heard them before and he'll hear them again. They're not exactly unfamiliar.

“Go on,” he says. It's dawn. Some ten hours have passed since he sent Ienobu and Yoshinori on their way. If they've been delayed, they can still catch up to Yamapi and Jin. Some problems aren't really problems. Just niggles. Small hitches. Some, on the other hand-

“They checked into a hotel,” Takauji says. “We were informed by the night manager. He has connections. He'll be wanting paid for it.”

“Yes,” Ieyasu says. “I understand how it works. I almost invented the idea.”

“Anyway,” Takauji goes on. “Apparently, some sort of crime was committed in the hotel overnight. The two of them were held up in police questioning all night. We can't touch them, or it'll look as though we were involved.”

Ieyasu puts his hands on the desk, thinking. Much as he's loathe to admit it, Takauji is right. There's only so much yakuza can push the police. He's learnt that, over the years.

“Where are Yoshinori and Ienobu?”

“Last we heard, sir,” Takauji is looking at his logs. “They were thirty miles from the hotel. We don't know which station the two are being held in. How do you want us to proceed?”

“I'm not sure,” Ieyasu says. “What was the crime? I'll need to see the reports.”

“A woman was killed,” Takauji shrugs. “Normal one. Sex crime, probably. Some guy offed her. She could have been a hooker. The hotel rents by the hour.”

“Hm,” Ieyasu says. “I'll need more information. Somebody else could have done this. Planted a crime scene next door. Stranger things have happened. We're not the only group after Johnny Kitagawa's blood, his money. I need more information. Tell Yoshinori and Ienobu to gather me more information. And let me see everything you can get here. Police reports, news articles, anything. Sad, tearful requests from the parents, crime scene photographs, anything.”

“Understood,” Takauji says. “What will you do?”

It's a mistake, but he doesn't know it yet. Underlings do not ask questions of their bosses. But Ieyasu just smiles. “Not your concern,” he says. “Just find me as much information as you can. Imagine you're the night manager.”

“I'm being paid according the amount of information I can get?”

“No,” Ieyasu says. “Imagine that you're working hard so that someone will protect you. Nobody trusts in the police anymore. We will protect you, Takauji, but only if you're loyal. Remember that. As long as your loyalty holds out, so will we be here for you. But only that long.”

“Understood,” Takauji says. But it isn't strictly true. Not by half.


They give the police all the information they can, and their alibi checks out. The security camera catches them in the lift at the time of the murder, which is both a relief and an embarrassment. They sit in a room together, Yamapi and Jin and the policeman, watching Yamapi hitting on Jin in a lift. To be honest, Yamapi is surprised that such a small, seedy place has security videos at all but it turns out that places that rent by the hour are wise to include it in the service. Apparently, there's been a string of working girls being murdered. The man they're after isn't Yamapi, or Jin. They don't know his name. Jin's hands are shaking. Yamapi reaches for one.

The policemen let them go, after taking fingerprints, statements, DNA, the whole shebang. There's nothing to hold them on and Yamapi's glad to get away. He doesn't want to speak to Johnny Kitagawa about it. Half of him is hoping that his boss hasn't heard. Maybe it hasn't hit the news across the wider area of Tokyo. It's entirely possible. He and Jin walk across the parking lot, Jin's arms across his body. He no longer looks as if he wants a holiday. He looks as if he's watery, somehow. As if the colour is gone but the water remains. If he were touched, your hand would go straight through.

“We'll carry on,” Yamapi says, unlocking the door. “Put it out of our minds. I was thinking we could go up to the lake. What do you think?”

Jin thinks about this. “I just can't stop thinking about it.”

They sit in the car. The radio plays something hard, trashing. Rock and roll. Yamapi puts it off. He hates that sort of music.

“I can't stop thinking about it, either,” he says. “Is that all that's on your mind?”

Jin looks at him, and for a moment, it's like he's tempted to say something. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is, “I don't know. I feel different.”

“Different?”

“I don't know. I don't understand it.”

Yamapi nods. He shares that feeling. “We'll go on to the lake. I think you need a rest.”

They drive, and Jin runs his hand down the window again. He looks up at the mountains and the trees and the birds circling the sky and he tries to feel hopeful. It's an effort these days, to feel anything. Not because he's numb, or anything like that. More because the ability to feel seems lost. It's like he's re-training his heart. As if a major road has been crossed off, and his emotions are re-routing. It's the only way to explain it. It's as if he has feelings, but no way of feeling them. They are something that he knows exist, but feels no impact of. He can't explain this to Yamapi, so he just says, different. It's a word that says so many different things, all at once.


“Yoshinobu,” Ieyasu says, to the dark. Everyone else has gone home. The eighth man does not attend the meetings that the other seven attend. This is partly because the other seven mistrust him and partly because he is Ieyasu's favourite. Having favourites is a dangerous practice in the yakuza world, and so Ieyasu talks to Yoshinobu alone at nights.

“Yes,” Yoshinobu says. He is small, rotund, visually the opposite of Ieyasu. They make an interesting pair. Or, they would, if anyone would dare come near the Hotel New Japan. Excellent meeting place, really. People stay away from it for two reasons: it's a yakuza headquarters, and also a haunted building. They just don't realise that the yakuza who reside there are the ghosts, too.

“How is it going?” Ieyasu asks. “Takauji is out, running for information. The others are involved elsewhere. I have a knack at finding menial tasks for them. You may speak.”

“Yoshinori and Ienobu are away?”

“They are.”

“I will speak.” Yoshinobu isn't like Ieyasu in manner. He speaks with elderly grace and self-importance, but is not lacking in wisdom. His face is wrinkled with careful experience and his movements slow. He takes long pauses between words, sentences. Ieyasu is all modern charm, vitality. Unusually warm-blooded for a gangster. Yoshinobu's mould is more old-fashioned: ice-cold, quiet, deadly.

“The two of them make for the lake,” Yoshinobu says. “They attempt to forget. They attempt to forget what you made them see. They want to relax at the lake. They take no heed of who, or what, may be on their trail. If you wish to strike, you must do so when their hearts are rich and peaceful.”

“When will they be most rich, peaceful? I allowed them to see something...horrible. At your urging! And now you tell me that they must be calm, in order for this to work?”

“Yes,” Yoshinobu says. He takes a while to chew over his thoughts. “Nobody is more at peace than in the moments of sharp relief, cast on them by a traumatic experience. They are together and they are in love. Peace will come to them. I have taken their petty cares from them. Their minds will not be rugged with small, silly concerns. Like the ancient warriors before us, their minds will be peaceful. Wiped of all but the peace that is around them.”

“I see,” Ieyasu says. “I see. That is very wise.”

“You must take the brighter one down first,” Yoshinobu says. “He is protective. He has strong energy. He shines brightly. The other is weak. You have weakened him. There are things that his partner cannot do for him. He's wandering, alone, unsure. Things trouble him.”

“Things trouble him?”

“You took from him a most important organ,” Yoshinobu says impatiently. “Without it, he must relearn life itself. He must try to cope without it. It is a long and delicate process. It weakens him.”

Ieyasu nods, very slowly. The two of them sit in silence.

“Do the others know, of what you have done?” Yoshinobu asks. His tone is disapproving, a touch more so than usual.

“No,” Ieyasu says. “I tested them. Not one could recall the name Akanishi Jin. Figures, it was a long time ago. None of them were very...acutely aware of themselves, back then. They all seemed to be asleep. It's taken years, to find them all hearts. Do you know how rare it is? To find a good heart?”

“Indeed,” Yoshinobu says. “It's getting rarer by the year. You young people are sick inside. It's a sickness, modernity.”

“You must have been searching forever, then,” Ieyasu says. “Don't tell me you're not looking. Your light is strong, but it lessens every time we meet. You're getting old. You need a heart, too. A good one. A strong one. Rich with feeling. One like mine. It will go on for centuries.” Ieyasu palms his chest as he speaks. His eyes close.

“It would have gone on longer, if you'd gotten all of it. You youngsters, you are so inept. To have left the dagger behind. To have left it behind, with the outline of his heart on it...! The mind can't even begin to comprehend it. How you could be so stupid, as to let them run. To let them escape with the dagger. The mess you're in is your own doing.”

“I didn't think that they would have the forethought-” Ieyasu's eyes are open, now. Angrily open.

“Yes, well. Some youngsters are surprisingly ingenuous. You must get it back. You must. And as for me...I shall keep looking. I've looked for long enough. I want the perfect heart. I don't want to botch it up, like you. I suppose your men, they have sub-standard hearts?”

“Not as perfect as mine, true,” Ieyasu says, somewhat placated. “I expect yours will be the best of all.”

“A whole heart,” Yoshinobu says. It's as if he can hardly breathe. “Soon.”

“Find them,” Ieyasu says. His tone roughens, he sits up straight. “Find them. And send them another vision. Use the boy I found to do it. I don't want them to forget too easily. I want their peace to be hard-won. I want them both to feel.”

“Jin does not feel-”

“Jin can do things he isn't aware of,” Ieyasu says. “Make him aware of them. I want that last piece alive. I want it red, hot, beating. I want my heart to be perfect. As perfect as it was in his body.”


When they arrive at the lake, it's mid-afternoon, and Jin helps Yamapi to unload the car. He takes Yamapi's hand as they walk through to the accommodation area – it's new, wasn't there when they were kids, when they were forced to erect tents and the like – which is newly furnished. The paint still has a scent. Yamapi puts the bags down on the floor, and Jin reaches for his wallet. It's his turn to do battle with the receptionists.

The receptionist is a little old lady. It's unusual for a hotel to employ older staff, particularly a fresh, new-build, but the lady has a nice face and she's respectful as the two of them approach. She bows her head, and Jin awkwardly reciprocates.

“Have you any log cabins free at the moment?” he asks. “I know they're popular.”

She looks slowly through the computer database. “Yes,” she says eventually. “We do have a few free. Do you want one right beside the lake? They'll cost you more.”

Jin looks at Yamapi. They nod and smile together, secret language. “Yes,” he says. “We'd like that one.”

“Twin?”

“Double.”

She taps away. “That's fine,” she says, without changing expression. Yamapi narrows his eyes at Jin, who has the luck of the devil, he thinks. Jin is smirking. Yamapi goes to look for leaflets.

“There's your key,” she says, sliding a small, plastic key chain across the counter. Not a key card, and Jin hates key cards, so that's a good sign. A proper key. “It's 893.”

“893?”

“Yes. The cabins are numbered oddly here. Must be the new way of doing things. There are ten cabins. 134, 278, 395, 432, 573, 605, 743, 893, 902 and 1054. Isn't that strange?”

“Very,” Jin says. “I don't think the new way suits me.”

“Me neither,” she admits. “It's hard for an oldie like me to fit in.”

Jin smiles at her. “You're doing fine. I don't think I could have remembered those numbers.”

“Ah, it's practice. Now, there's a small display on the lake every other night at 8pm. Small fireworks, candles on the surface of the water. A little bit of dancing, that sort of thing. It's free of charge to all our guests, so please do go and see it.”

“Will do,” Jin says. “Thank you.”

He catches up with Yamapi, who is looking through a huge stack of leaflets. “There's a big steakhouse nearby,” he says. “They do this all you can eat gig at 8pm. If you manage two big steaks each, the meal is free.” He looks up at Jin with his eyes all lit up. Jin is almost salivating. They both do like steak.

“There's a display on the lake at 8pm,” Jin says. “Fireworks and candles and things.”

I love candles, Yamapi remembers. He never did find a place to pick them up for Jin. The least he could do is-

“Do you want to go?” he asks. “I'm good with anything.”

“We could do steak afterwards?” Jin suggests. “Fireworks and candles sound good to me.”

Yamapi smiles. “Sounds good.”


893 is a little away from 902, so much that Jin can only see into the corner of the window. There's a woman in the kitchen, washing up. Other than that, the landscape is peaceful. All he can see is water and trees. It's like sitting on the corner of the world. He sits in the large bay window and watches the birds fly down, skim across the surface of the water. There's barely a wave: the air is clear, the breeze is still. Perfect weather.

Yamapi has unpacked, or tried to. There's stuff everywhere. Jin's clothes are all over the bed. Yamapi's food is all over the kitchen table. It looks like their apartment: lived in. Yamapi comes over to the bay window, sits down. They look at the birds together, Yamapi with his hand in Jin's. Jin looks happy. Restful.

“Happy?” Yamapi says.

Jin looks at him, smiling. “Yup,” he says.

“That bird looks like Shige,” Yamapi says. “It has that same face. Tentative. I think it's wondering whether it fits it with the other birds.”

“It looks like it's worried about stuff,” Jin says. “What do birds have to worry about?”

“Same as humans, I guess,” Yamapi says. “Where the next meal is coming from.”

Jin looks over to the kitchen in the opposite cabin. A man has joined the woman in the kitchen. He is behind her, his arms around her waist. She rests her fingers on the glass. Suddenly, it all seems too familiar. Jin's fingers on the glass, Yamapi behind him. And then he sees the man's face, and he audibly gasps.

Yamapi looks across, at that. They both look, right into the eyes of the man. It's him, alright. It can't be anybody else. Only now, he doesn't look like a wild animal. There's no blood on his hands or face. The white suit is gone. The woman with him is laughing. It's a picture of a happily married couple.

“Maybe it's just somebody who looks like him,” Yamapi says. “Really like him.”

“It's him,” Jin says. He's breathless. “It's definitely him.”

“It can't be him,” Yamapi says. “It can't be.”

“We're going for steaks,” Jin says. “Later. I don't want to be walking around the lake with him. Even if it isn't him. Shouldn't we call the police?”

“We've no proof that it's him. We didn't even see him that well. If it's an innocent man, then...”

“The boss will hear about it. Right.” Jin chews on a thumbnail.

“It's alright,” Yamapi says. “I really don't think that it's him. He wouldn't be allowed in, if it were. His face is on the local news. That woman at the desk would have seen him and called the police. It'll be fine. Don't worry.”


They go for steaks. Jin likes his rare, Yamapi well-done. They easily manage two steaks each, which isn't a surprise to either of them. Jin loves steak. It's probably his favourite food. They put the image of earlier out of their minds, laughing about the good old days. It's been so long since Jin felt so much at peace. Being with Yamapi does that. Being at the lake, too, he supposes. It's as if the small pieces of himself are slowly flying back to him. Every moment, it gets easier to feel. The clear air, the good company – that must be to blame.

“What do you want to do, after this run?” Yamapi asks. “If he goes higher and higher, the boss. Eventually, he may be elected. Do you want to do this...forever?”

“No,” Jin says. “Probably not. It's okay, you know? The money is good, the work's interesting. But it isn't forever. I just don't know what forever is.”

“No, me neither,” Yamapi says. “I've never known. I just knew I didn't want to work in an office. Type all day. I wish we could be birds instead.”

“Just fly everywhere?” Jin laughs. “Yeah, that'd be fun.”

“Have the freedom to travel anywhere, everywhere,” Yamapi says. “Imagine that. In this world, we have to drive, or find a plane, find a mode of transport that inevitably costs a month's salary. Imagine being a bird, and being able to do it for free, on a whim.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “America, maybe. Europe. The North Pole! Possibilities are endless. Could go anywhere.”

“Birds don't live very long,” Jin reckons. “You wouldn't have much time.”

“All the more reason to be a bird!” Yamapi says. “Everything would mean more.”


The man cries out as his legs move underneath him. Not again. He can't understand why this is happening. Why this has been happening. As if it isn't bad enough, what happened last time. He's a happily married man. There's going to be children, he thinks, not long now. It's definitely in the pipeline. And suddenly, he's become somebody he doesn't know. His legs walk where they want to go, and he has no control.

He killed that woman. Slept with her, then murdered her. The police are probably after him. He won't escape. He'll have to go to prison. His life, as he knows it, will be over. He wants to be sick but he's walking somewhere and he has no time for it. His hands open the door. His legs walk out.

The night is dark. The ground is cold. A piece of paper materializes in his hand. He tries to drop it, but he can't. He cries out again, more quietly. Why me? He walks over to cabin 893. The fireworks shoot into the sky. The flames burn on the lake's surface. He looks at the paper. Letters appear in the middle of the vast, empty space. His hand goes to his pocket, brings out the dagger.

No, he thinks. Please, no.

He reaches the door. His hand rises, and with hard knocks, he attaches the paper to the door with the dagger. When he is satisfied with his handiwork, his legs take him back to his own cabin. As he moves through his own door, his legs become weak and his own, again. He falls to the floor and struggles to breathe through the sensation of water in his lungs.


When they return to the cabins, it's past 10pm. After getting two free steaks, the two of them felt bad for the losses incurred by the restaurant, and so ordered some dessert. Some dessert turned into a lot and, well, both of them are giggling when they trek over the hill towards their cabin. Everything is as they left it: the light on in the sitting room, everything else dark and homely. Only outside the door is a small note. It's pinned to the door with a small, rusted knife.

“Very Clint Eastwood,” Yamapi says. “It's probably from the cleaning service. They took one look at the mess and cried.”

Jin takes down the note, leaves the knife.

I missed you at the show.

He silently passes it to Yamapi, who reads it in the moonlight. He gets his keys out, unlocks the door. They walk through, and shut it, hard.

“What does that mean?” Jin is repeating, over and over. Yamapi flees through the rooms, throwing opens doors to rooms, wardrobes, the shower curtain, the cupboards. There is nobody there. He shuts all of the windows and all of the doors and goes back to Jin, who is looking into the log cabin opposite them.

“He's there!” he's saying. “He's in the kitchen, staring out of the window.”

“Maybe it's somebody else,” Yamapi says. “Is there anyone else?”

“The receptionist!” Jin says breathlessly. “She said we should go. And she knows our cabin number! It's bound to be her.”

They laugh, nudging shoulders. “God, we're idiots,” Yamapi says. “Shows how much work is getting to us.”

But neither of them relax. Jin turns his face, with its big, dark eyes and his nibbled lip. They kiss, instead, because that makes them feel soothed, normally. Only this time it's heated, Jin's hands are flurried, and his breath comes hard. The excitement has done something to him, and to Yamapi too, because they start pulling at each other's clothes. Yamapi's shirt goes, first, and then Jin's joins it. They make short, turning work of the kitchen. The stairs are harder, with Yamapi's jeans undone and Jin falling over him to get to the bedroom. They walk through the door and Jin collapses onto the bed, pulling Yamapi down on top of him. It makes getting his jeans off that little bit harder, but Yamapi doesn't care. There's nothing quite like looking down at Jin's face, lit up and happy and horny and true. Nothing quite like that.

Once Yamapi's jeans are off, Jin wriggles out of his sweatpants and they lie together, shirking off underwear, until naked skin is on naked skin and it's right, at last. It didn't feel right in the hotel, but it feels right now. Jin looks up at Yamapi and his face is peacefully frantic, which makes no sense but then little does.

“I need you,” he says, and he does. It's obvious. “I need you to fuck me.”

As if that could make him whole. As if that could make the niggling terror vanish. It can, though, Yamapi thinks. They kiss some more. Yamapi leans over the edge of the bed, finds lube and condoms, rolls back onto Jin. Jin opens the packet with his teeth, it's his party trick. He's good at it. Yamapi's party trick is good preparation, and Jin is a happy observer. Observing becomes participation with Jin, though. As Yamapi's fingers wriggle inwards, so Jin's hips undulate, getting himself off. Yamapi smacks his arse with the other hand, “oi,” he says. “Stop that.”

But Jin doesn't, because Jin's enjoying it too much. He smirks, eyes lidded, making little moans. It's a game, a tease. Yamapi always gives in far too fast. Yamapi moves Jin's legs upwards, removes fingers more harshly than Jin probably deserves. Jin grunts with displeasure, but before he can reach the last syllable Yamapi is between his legs and gently pushing, so he wisely closes his mouth and screws up his face. As Yamapi moves inside him, Jin's lips fall open again and he makes the purest, most indecent sound it's possible to make.

Yamapi closes his eyes to it, ragged breath in his lungs. “Jin,” he says. “Jin, shut up.”

Jin's voice is breathless. “Want me to be silent, do you, that turn you on, huh,”

“No,” Yamapi says. “No, no, no, just, fuck, stop making that noise.”

“Will you come? If I make that noise.”

“Jin,”

“Sorry.”

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Jin says. “Fuck, yes.”

So Yamapi does. He lies down, his arms by the sides of Jin's face. Jin moves his hips up as Yamapi thrusts inside, in and out, to and fro, forward and back.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jin is saying, and Yamapi is biting hard on his own lip because the combination of that and the warm, wet tightness envelops him in something it's impossible not to want to give into. It's perfect, rich, hard, true. And Jin only gets more and more frantic by the second. His hands turn to little claws, his head throwing back. Yamapi takes his shoulder between his teeth and bites, to keep the noise back, the loud cries that want their say. His hips move fast, too fast, too hard, and Jin's bash into his. Two hands entwine on the sheets, the others find each other between their bodies. Neither of them want to give up on Jin's cock, so they don't, both of them wanking him off together. Jin's hand is rough and so Yamapi's is moreso, until Jin's voice is high and loud enough to wake the dead.

“I can't,” he's trying to say. “I can't. I can't. I can't.”

He means 'last', Yamapi knows, he can't last, but he can't begin to think clearly, so he almost stops and then Jin cries out and pulls him down harder. Then, he thinks better of it and pushes Yamapi back. The movement pulls Yamapi out, which confuses him and infuriates him both at once. He moans, hard, because it hurts, the sudden absence. But then Jin climbs into his lap, and reaches behind, pushes Yamapi inside him so fast Yamapi's head spins. He moans again, much louder, much longer, has to bite his mouth and count to ten. Only Jin is trying to kiss his mouth, so that doesn't work, and he has to say:

“Jin, I'm not going to. I'm not-”

Jin is shaking his head. His hair is soaking, and his neck is soaking, and his jaw is soaking, and the movement sends little droplets of sweat all over Yamapi's collarbone. He's wet, too. He hadn't realised it.

Jin knows. Jin always knows. He rocks backwards and forwards so hard and so fast that Yamapi worries he's going to hurt himself, tries to steady him with his hands on Jin's hips but it doesn't work, so he grabs his cock instead, strokes to the same rhythm. Jin's hands are in his hair, then, and he's making a sound that's almost a scream. With a roar, a sound that reaches the ceiling and spreads out flat, Jin comes and clashes his chest into Yamapi's. His head arches back, his eyes screwed tight and his body so hot and so tight that Yamapi isn't long after him. He laps his tongue up Jin's neck, over his chin, which he captures between teeth, and then that's it. He comes and comes and comes, his face by Jin's jawline, his mouth painting a picture on Jin's neck.

They're both soaking. The bed is soaking. The world is soaking. They open their soaking, lidded eyes and look at each other. And there is nothing else in the universe, but this and them.


“They are ready,” Yoshinobu says. Ieyasu hears his voice, though they are miles apart. One of their party tricks. “Their hearts beat rapidly. Jin is alight. You will never have another chance like this one. The dagger is on the door.”

The reception desk is empty. The old woman takes strides through the building and then vanishes, a coil of smoke. The smoke curls over the ground, staying away from the water. The smoke curls around the trees and through the grass. The smoke curls around cabin 893.


Ryo looks out of the window. He can't sleep. He sees the smoke curling around cabin 893. And before he can think about it, he makes his legs work for himself. The smoke curls upwards, around the dagger he's placed upon the door. And he thought that it was harmless.

This is the force that's ruined his life. He rushes to his door, opens it. The smoke pauses, if smoke can pause, and turns to him.

“Why did you do this to me?” he calls, across the night. “You made me do terrible things-”

The figure materializes. There's a man, tall, transparent. It's a ghost. “I needed somebody who didn't matter. If you're traced back to the deaths, and found guilty, and if you go to prison, or if you're killed, it doesn't matter. To anybody. It matters if I'm found guilty. You were a pawn.”

“Am I now free?” Ryo's voice is wrecked. “Am I now free?”

“You are now free,” Ieyasu says. His legs turn to wisps, his body coiling away. The sound echoes over the lake.


Yamapi opens his eyes. He heard something. He's sure that he heard something. Jin is fast asleep, half on him. They're naked and still wet, the blankets nowhere to be seen. And it's freezing. The whole room feels deathly cold.

“Jin,” Yamapi says. He nudges him. “Something isn't right. Jin.”

Jin's eyelids are cranky. Jin shoves him, a bit. “I'm tired. Go back to sleep.”

“No, Jin, something-”

Jin opens his eyes. “What,” he says, and it's a whine.

Yamapi sits up, looks out of the window. “Something isn't right. I can feel it.”

“Oh,” Jin says. He climbs out of bed, stretching, looking around. “You left one of the candles on. I'll go blow it out. I really like the smoke.”

He's halfway to the sitting room before Yamapi realises.

“Jin, I didn't light any-”

And then he breaks into a run. Jin is frozen to the spot. A tall man stands before him, with a dagger in his hand. And something uncurls in Yamapi's mind. He's been here before. He can't have been, but he has. Somehow, he knows that he has. And Jin looks at him, and the very same expression is playing out on his face.

He trawls through his brain, trying to find the mysterious thing he's looking for, but nothing comes. Just blurring images, childhood, university, he and Jin. Nothing like this. Nothing as familiar as this feels. The man stands before Jin, with a dagger in his hand. The dagger from the door. The man is transparent, and laughing.

“What do you want?” Jin says. His voice is tiny. “You're not-”

“To finish what I started,” the man says. “Long ago. This dagger has gone cold. Please touch it.”

“I don't want to-”

“You should touch the dagger,” the man says. “It's gone so, so cold.”

Yamapi feels as though he can't breathe. As if he's searching underwater for something and his lungs are filling up with water, but he can't rise to the surface until he remembers where he's seen all of this before.

“Who are you?” he asks, desperate. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man isn't looking at him. He's looking at Jin. Staring into his eyes. Jin isn't saying anything, anymore. Jin looks slowly at the dagger, as if he's considering taking it. Jin reaches out, and the man places the dagger in his hands. Nothing happens. Perhaps it's a dream, Yamapi thinks. Perhaps it's just one of those nonsensical dreams-

“Draw it across your chest,” the man says, and suddenly, like being hit by lightning, images come back to Yamapi. It's a roar, of noise and of memory and of lost, lost time. Water. The sea. A ship. Another life, a heart, a cave. Riddles, a map. A dagger and a heart. A good, good heart.

And Jin, Jin is transfixed. His body is no longer his own. He takes the dagger toward his chest.

“Jin,” Yamapi cries out. “Jin! Give it to me! Give it to me!”

Jin turns to him, slowly. His eyes are soaking wet. His mouth is parted. The colour is gone. The colour is gone.

“I love you,” Yamapi says. “You know that I love you. Give it to me.”

“Don't give it to him,” Ieyasu says. “His heart is weak. Your heart is so good. So, so good. Just this little, last sliver. Just to make me complete. You remember being complete? That's what I want. You cannot love as you are. Give me the last sliver.”

They were in a cave. They couldn't leave the cave. They were pirate ghosts, confined to the cave. They transform, but have no substance of their own. They are not human. Yamapi can see what he should do, but Jin is weak, and he doesn't trust that he won't-

Jin moves across to him, gasping with the pain of it. Yamapi's eyes dart to Ieyasu, whose eyes are angry and surprised. There's a bond on Jin's legs. Yamapi suddenly realises that Jin is breaking a supernatural bond. After three steps, he's crying out. Yamapi makes up the rest, takes the dagger from him. And then, then he senses that they've only one chance.

Once the dagger is in Yamapi's hand, the bond is lost.

“Run!” Yamapi cries out, pulling Jin by the hand. They run, down and out the door, down to the lake. They're followed by curling smoke, running barefoot down the banks and towards the water. Jin seems to understand. They're running together, hands tight, almost falling over twigs and bits of branch but nothing has ever been more important than this.

When they reach the waterfront, the smoke curls high and above them and so Yamapi doesn't waste another moment. He reaches his arm high and throws the dagger as far as he can with all of his might. It soars, paints an arc in the dark sky, and then falls somewhere in the middle of the water. Lost. Jin is holding onto his waist. Everything is deathly quiet.

When they turn around, the smoke is gone.


“I told you that you must take the brighter one down first,” Yoshinobu says. His voice sounds critical even across the distance. “You did not.”

“I had the dagger,” Ieyasu is saying. “In my hand. It was so close. I could hear his heart beating.”

“What happened, in that moment?”

“He felt. I told you, the boy knows how to feel. He may not have a heart, but he can feel. He felt, and he broke the bond. I had his heart in my hand, and he broke my bond. And now-”

“It's lost.”

“For now.”


Takauji comes out of the bushes. He is very faint, his light fading fast. Yamapi and Jin catch their breath, waiting on bated breath.

“He will come back,” he gasps. “He will return. He always does. Be prepared. Be prepared for it.”

“Do I know you?” Yamapi says. He seems familiar. People always seem to be familiar, these days.

Takauji falls to the ground, becomes smoke once again. Smoke seeps into the ground, vanishes.

“Yamapi,” Jin says, slowly. “It was Shige.”

It doesn't make sense, but then little does, about this. Yamapi tries to reconjure the memories, but nothing comes. It's as if his mind, so clear five minutes ago, has now returned to its usual state. A clean, blank slate. Jin is weak beside him, no more the wiser to explain all that's happened. Try as he might, Yamapi can't remember any of the things that were so clear to him.

“He'll come again,” Yamapi says. “That's what he said.”

Jin looks at him. His eyes are soft, his lip bitten. He's trying to remember. Nothing comes to mind easily. Eventually, he manages to say, and it's exhausted and desperate, “Who will?”

Yamapi thinks about this, hard. “I don't know,” he says. “I don't know.”