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It was raining again.
It rained a lot on their cases. If Tsujimura didn’t know better, she’d say it was pathetic fallacy or some other storytelling technique. It felt rehearsed, when she would watch the life drain from a criminal’s eyes accompanied by bad weather. A pre-planned, cinematic conclusion to Kyougoku’s theatrics.
But it was never enjoyable to experience the way it would be in a theater. Her stomach was pure acid. Even after years of working together, witnessing Ayatsuji’s ability as it struck people down made her queasy, and knowing that the deaths were deserved didn’t do much to assuage her discomfort. The gory scene in front of her today had put her in a terrible mood. The rain certainly wasn’t helping.
She couldn't see the face of her watch, but she knew it was late. She was exhausted, and they were in the middle of nowhere, forced to follow their murderer to the outskirts of the city. Kyougoku had sent them on a wild goose chase.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine his maniacal laughter, chortling away at the dejected state the two of them were left in. If Ayatsuji’s pinched expression was anything to go by, he already had been for a while.
She made a pitiful attempt to wring out her sleeve. All of her clothes had soaked through. She’d left her umbrella at the office by accident, or maybe it was on purpose, having some silly thought that she could prove she was capable by getting her hands—and everything else—dirty. It had taken her too long to realize what a ridiculous idea that was. What was she expecting, for Ayatsuji to praise her while she stood there slathered in mud? She hardly could’ve ended this mission on a high note, considering their situation. There were no good days in a job like theirs—only days they both kept their balance on the tightrope.
No words were exchanged as they walked back to the car. Tsujimura ran through her mental checklist. She’d have to call the higher ups soon and let them know how the case had developed, but she couldn’t pick up a single bar of signal this far out. Smacking the side of her phone didn’t work, and neither did holding it above her head. The heavy rain deterred her from trying anything else, lest her phone stop working for good.
Stepping around the quickly gathering puddles, she kept her eyes glued to her feet. Only the knowledge that the car heater was waiting for them was keeping her sane. This cold and wet torture had an end, and it was just past the tree ahead. Nothing else mattered right now. Processing the grisly details of the case could wait until they made it back to the office.
Her SUV was parked on the edge of the nearest road, beside a ditch that had since turned into a small stream. Times like these made her grateful that she’d chosen to invest in an even more robust car. Navigating the old Aston Martin through puddles as tall as the ones she was seeing would be a hell of its own. It drove too low to the ground, and she didn’t have any of her new gadgets installed back then. It had been a poor excuse for a Bond tribute, really.
Reaching the tree at the end of the footpath, she picked up the pace, seeing her pathetic dripping reflection in the car's window. Fishing out the keys lodged at the bottom of her jacket pocket proved to be a challenge, but eventually she unlocked the doors and slumped into the driver’s seat, sighing with relief. She released her hair from the tangled mess pinned to the back of her head.
She stared at herself in the visor mirror. Her makeup had run terribly, giving her the guise of a jilted bride. Rubbing at her face did nothing but smudge the pigment around. Her forehead hit the steering wheel in exhaustion.
The other door clicked shut as Ayatsuji climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m not sure if I want to be chaperoned by a driver that can't keep herself upright.”
“I’m fine,” she murmured into the leather.
“Famous last words?”
She rolled her head to the side to scowl at him. Spitefully, she fired up the engine.
That had been the plan, anyway. The car didn’t spring to life like she willed it to.
Confused, she pulled the key out and in again, rattling it around in an attempt to kickstart the SUV into action. It gave a low rumble this time, but it was weak and strained. There was a grating sound that didn’t treat her ears kindly. She winced.
Tsujimura had a decent amount of skill in fixing cars—her need to be self-sufficient had done her a lot of favors over the years—but stepping back out into the pouring rain was even less appealing than sitting in the driver’s seat all night. With gritted teeth, she tried the ignition one more time.
There was a groan. A mechanical pop. The car gave one last splutter before going still.
“You can’t be serious,” she grumbled to it. What was the point of forking out on all of these fancy customizations, if not one of them could stop the engine from going bust? She pressed random buttons on the dashboard, before checking her phone again.
No signal. She couldn’t call anyone to pick them up, and without the engine, she couldn’t even turn on the heater.
Rubbing at her arms, she leaned back in her seat and tried to come up with a solution that wouldn’t involve exposing the car’s internals to a monsoon’s worth of water. She glanced over at Ayatsuji. He didn’t have much of a reaction, only muttering to himself about ‘killing that guy a second time’.
It seemed she’d just have to face the rain. She went to open the door.
“Don’t bother,” Ayatsuji said.
Tsujimura paused. “What?”
“You won’t be able to fix it.” His voice held zero doubt. She opened her mouth to protest, offended by his lack of faith in her abilities, but he raised a hand to silence her. “It’s not the result of your incompetence, for a change. You remember the criminal’s talk about ‘stealing our spark’?”
Tsujimura did. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for criminals to spew nonsense when confronted by the Homicide Detective, so she hadn’t thought much of it at the time.
“I’m certain you can figure out what it was that he stole. All according to that bastard’s plan, I imagine.”
She considered the stalling of the engine. The fuse from the car’s fuel pump came to mind. It would be easy for a criminal to take, especially if they were backed by Kyougoku’s expertise. She cursed.
“So we’re stuck here?”
“Unless you can find a replacement in the middle of this storm, yes.”
A shudder ran through her, both from the cold and the dawning reality of their circumstances. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up and squeezed her body between the front seats, climbing into the back. She ignored Ayatsuji’s noise of complaint as her foot jabbed into his thigh.
If there was anything to be happy about, it was her foresight in overstocking the car with supplies. This wasn’t exactly a post-apocalyptic scenario, but the warm comforter in the trunk wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
The flat-folding seats in the back came in handy, too. She grabbed the comforter, unrolling it and laying it out across the open space. She pulled off her suit jacket, unlaced her shoes and removed her wet socks before enshrouding herself in it, trying to chase away the awful cloying moisture. If they were going to be stuck here for the long haul, she may as well get comfortable. She grabbed a pillow as an afterthought.
But she couldn't shake the feeling there was more that had to be done. She fixed her attention on Ayatsuji.
He had yet to stop staring out of the window, gaze following the paths of raindrops as they rolled down. She noticed he was starting to get fidgety in the way he often did without his nicotine kick.
“Uhm,” she began. Was she really going to ask this? It was so embarrassing. He would laugh at her. Or worse, get the wrong idea. “Do you want to share?”
She lifted the edge of the comforter. He didn’t move an inch from his position, but his eyes slid in her direction.
He sat for a moment like he didn’t know how to respond. His face had an intensity she hadn’t seen outside of their cases. Then, that familiar mocking smirk danced onto his features, and she wanted to scream.
“My, my. Propositioning your charge? Some would call that an abuse of power.”
“No!” she exclaimed, grabbing the spare pillow from the trunk and launching at his head. He ducked, and it flopped on the dashboard, missing him entirely. “It’s not like that at all!”
He clicked his tongue, but remained where he was. She squinted at him—with any luck, she could make him explode with her mind—and in doing so she picked up on the shivers he was trying his best to hide. Guilt pooled in her stomach. It was illogical, but her brain was steadily convincing her that it was her fault the car had broken down. How much of a bad agent was she, to not realize someone had tampered with the engine?
“I promise it’s not weird,” she insisted. “I just don’t want you to have to sleep in the passenger seat if we’re stuck here overnight, and you’ll get cold without a blanket.”
There was something despairing about the way he exhaled, his shoulders deflating with one long rush of air. He plucked the pillow from the dashboard and tossed it back to her, before following her through the front seats.
He sat down as far away from her as the car would allow. He didn’t even take off his wet jacket.
“I don’t have a contagious disease,” Tsujimura hissed, shoving the other end of the comforter towards him.
Fluffing her pillow and placing it behind her, she fell backwards onto it with a huff. Her muscles were stiff, but she had no space to stretch them. She weighed up the risk of taking a nap until the storm came to a heel. The worst that could happen was Ayatsuji drawing on her face with a marker, or whatever, while she was asleep. And to be honest, with the current state of her makeup, any additions from him wouldn't be all that visible.
Decision made, she turned onto her side. It was euphoric to rest her eyes after getting so much dirt and rainwater in them.
“Sleeping on the job again?”
He enunciated it in the tone of a genuine question, instead of the mockery that it obviously was. Tsujimura mentally counted to ten.
“What, are you gonna stay awake until morning?” she snapped. She felt bad for being touchy, but he couldn't expect her to be all sunshine and rainbows when outside the car was everything but.
He didn’t answer. She heard the shuffling of fabric, and the creaking of the surface beneath her as if extra weight had settled on top of it.
She peeled her eyes open, and met his. It was impossible to mistake their color. Golden, but muted. Like flying over a city at night, or seeing a festival from a distance.
He had reclined next to her, and now they were face to face. It was strange, because she and Ayatsuji had known each other for a long time—they'd been through their fair share of death-defying bonding experiences, and yet in that instant, she could've been looking at a stranger. Perhaps a friend from a previous life. Someone familiar and not, all at once.
“I never thought we’d end up having a sleepover,” she said, mostly to fill the silence.
“Sleepover?” Ayatsuji replied, incredulous. “Are you five years old?”
“Well, what else would you call it?!”
She didn’t get a response except for a grunt. He had closed his eyes to block her out, a shutter pulled up between her and those expanses of gold. She twiddled her thumbs.
“…Did you know the fuse would get swiped?”
“I’m not omniscient.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. She shifted to inspect the inside of the car's roof, tracing the seams of the upholstery. “I only just paid this off.”
It had taken up every last drop of her savings, too. She’d had to cut back on her morning lattes. In hindsight, she should’ve just bought the damn coffee.
Glancing back at Ayatsuji, she did a double take. There was an out-of-place tension in his body. She propped herself up on one elbow, peering over him with concern.
“Sensei,” she whispered. She didn’t understand why he looked so pained. “Are you alright?”
He hummed noncommittally, and she frowned. She put her palm to his forehead to check for a fever, but the tension worsened. “Quit it.”
Despite his biting words, he looked so nonthreatening right now, with his damp hair fanned out across the pillow she’d thrown at him. If she wasn’t seeing it herself, Tsujimura would never have believed this was the same Special A-Grade Dangerous Skill User she was assigned to watch over.
Her hand dropped from his forehead to the car seat. It was difficult to make out in the darkness, but his face had more color than usual, deeper shades that collected around the height of his cheekbones and stood out against his pale skin. It made her gut twist with worry.
“Are you sick? Was it the rain?”
“No,” he ground out through his teeth, turning over and putting his back to her so she couldn’t gawp at him anymore. “Am I allowed to sleep as per your orders, or shall I go back to the passenger seat?”
“Fine, fine. But if you’re lying and I get the flu, I’m going to be mad.”
He gave a dismissive flick of his wrist, and she rolled her eyes. He was too sassy for his own good.
Rain pattered against the windows. If not for the situation they were in, it would be peaceful, as calming as the ocean sounds she listened to in order to lull herself to sleep. She changed position over and over in search of a comfortable way of holding herself, but none of them could undo the knotting in her muscles.
The whole time, Ayatsuji was quiet. Uncharacteristically so—he rarely took a break from torturing her with his lectures. But all she could hear over the racket from outside was his breathing, a rhythm that was too shallow for him to be anything but awake.
He hated it when she fretted over him, but his weird behavior was gnawing at her. If he wasn’t sick, then what the hell was his deal?
She mulled over his silence, his odd pallor, his standoffish attitude. Was he embarrassed? That was rare. More than rare, it was nigh impossible. Maybe it was a little cruel, but she had to see it.
“Sensei,” she whispered again, fighting back laughter. She put her hand on his shoulder, trying to nudge him onto his back. “Look at me.”
He resisted with great effort before rolling over. And there it was, that blistering glare she knew all too well.
“Are you always this insufferable late at night? I’m considering submitting a transfer request of my own.”
But the annoyance in his expression dampened, replaced by bewilderment, as the pads of her fingers pushed into his cheek. It was warm to the touch, and darker than the tips of her fingers, so she knew her eyes hadn’t deceived her. Her smile widened.
“Get that creepy grin off your face,” he said, with no less scorn than before, but he blinked as if he’d lost his footing, just slightly. It filled her with a giddy thrill she couldn’t quite make sense of, but before she could dwell on that her actions caught up with her.
“Sorry,” she blurted, drawing her fingers back to her chest. She cleared her throat. When had she gotten so forward? But he hadn’t berated her any more than was typical for him, and he was still in her space, so she chanced a glance back up.
Ayatsuji was staring at her with his eyebrows pulled together. He had his case expression on again, which puzzled her, because he never shut up about how easy she was to read. Being on the other end of that look made her heart race.
Was this how those suspects felt? Had their criminal today experienced this sensation of being a butterfly pinned to a corkboard?
Maybe this was too intimate, and Ayatsuji had been right to be hesitant about sharing what was basically a bed with her. He was never wrong about anything, after all.
They had fallen into a deadlock. He kept his gaze trained on her, and she couldn’t look away. Looking away felt like losing, like there was some unspoken game, like he would torment her about it forever if she dared to surrender by breaking eye contact. The cold dampness clinging to her clothes felt scorching, all of a sudden. Maybe she was the one who had come down with a fever.
His eyes darted across her face and in that tiny sliver of time, as if a switch had been flipped, she could see it. It swam circles in his pupils. The want was so overwhelming it stole the breath straight out of her lungs. But he didn’t move, didn’t lean any closer, not allowing himself to have.
Her head was spinning. For how long had he looked at her like that? How long had she been completely oblivious to it?
She reached out, careful, and her fingers shook as they began to card through his hair. He didn’t comment on it or tease her—he didn’t do anything at all, continuing to examine her in silence and let her touch him, and he was being so unlike himself that it made her insides turn heavy.
“Is this okay?” she asked, belatedly, and her voice sounded far away. Part of her was begging for him to recoil, to insult, so things would be normal again. So they could pretend none of this peculiarity had ever happened.
“What do you think?” he replied, and it was so thick with self-loathing, shame about his—whatever it was—that she felt a desperate tug within herself to comfort him.
If it were daytime, when she was less tired and could see him better, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to bring herself to do it. To shyly catch his face between her hands, feel the line of his jaw and his eyelashes brushing her thumbs. But she was tired, and it was dark. And by the time she’d done that much, it seemed only natural to continue. To pull him towards her, until they were separated by a breath, until she could feel his bangs tickling the bridge of her nose.
That seemed to finally awaken him from his stasis, as his hand emerged from the blankets, hovering over her side before settling there. But he still had that subdued look, as if he was mourning something, and she was dying to get rid of it.
“E-Everything’s going to be alright,” she said, and she didn’t know what on earth she was saying, what on earth she was reassuring him about, but it worked, even if not in the tender way she wanted. He scoffed; she felt the puff of air against her lips.
“Stop talking, the IQ of the entire prefecture is going down,” he muttered. There was no venom in it. It was obvious he was just saying it to say anything.
He readjusted, but he had no room to move because of how entwined they were, and the next thing Tsujimura registered was that she was angling herself forward, kissing him, and he was reciprocating, and it was a huge breach of her integrity as an agent. But it wasn’t the first time she’d bent her internal rules around him, and if she was being seriously truthful to herself, Ayatsuji was an even bigger aspect of her life than her job. She’d known his name long before she could call herself a member of the Special Division.
He was pliant, and it tugged at her heartstrings because it was so different from the callous exterior he presented to her. She was uncovering new truths about him, after years of working by his side. The words that left his mouth were harsh and biting, but he kissed so gently. He thought her incapable and clumsy, but liked her enough to hold, to let in when the rest of the world pushed him out. They weren’t truths she could report back to Sakaguchi, but cards she could keep close to her chest.
She nestled into him, seeking his body heat against the chill from her still-wet blouse and the rainwater sticking her slacks to her legs. His palm slid from her side to the small of her back, and the movement was almost urgent, as though he believed she’d vanish if he didn’t maintain a point of contact between them.
Growing dizzy with it all, she drew back, but she didn’t miss the way he chased after her before catching himself.
“Very unprofessional of you,” he said, in that detached and sardonic drawl of his, pretending it wasn’t clear as day how affected he was. “The Division truly is a disgrace.”
She was powerless to stop it—she blushed, irritation and embarrassment mingling together. He just couldn’t help himself, could he? He always had to put up a shield, create distance, if not physical then emotional. She wanted to push and prod and break it down, but all she could think about was the fact that they had kissed, and now her ears were red-hot, and she couldn’t process anything, let alone speak.
“I…” she tapered off, helpless, and she was still holding his face. She ripped her arms away. Something slack in his features went taut, a softness she hadn't been aware of until she was overwhelmed by the absence of it.
It was too much. She hid behind her hands. The quiet stagnated for a long time, before at last she heard a rustling of the comforter.
Was he leaving? Slipping out of her reach, again?
“Don’t go anywhere, sensei,” she said, but it was too raw, too vulnerable, so she added, “you’ll get drenched,” under some pretense that she was giving him advice. Maybe they both were prone to putting up fronts.
The shuffling stopped. Ayatsuji settled, not so close that they were touching, but enough for her to feel his warmth.
The rain hadn’t let up—it was pouring harder than before, if anything. But it was faint, drowned out by the steady thump of Ayatsuji’s heartbeat, audible from how thin of a gap lay between them. Or, more realistically, it was her own pulse, hammering in her ears, she couldn’t tell them apart.
It began to weigh on her. In an instant, the car had become tiny, compressing around them until there wasn’t air to take a breath.
“Are you angry?” she asked. It was a silly question. If Ayatsuji was angry, it wasn’t the sort of thing you had to ask about. So she changed course. “Do you want me to resign?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she could take a guess at how it looked. When he answered, his voice reflected that expression.
“You’re a fool.”
Yes, Tsujimura thought, allowing herself to release the breath she’d been holding. I really am.