Chapter Twelve
Seimei looked up from the vegetables he was chopping as the doorbell rang. He frowned slightly. Hisoka had left over two hours ago, and he was fairly sure that his friend hadn’t left anything. Seishirou had only just gotten home, one arm coated in blood, and had dodged into the shower with hardly a word with his son.
He dried his hands on a dishtowel and went to answer the door. His eyes went wide when he saw who was standing in the hallway of the apartment complex. He forced a smile onto his face. “Ah, Sumeragi-san . . .” He bowed slightly. “Please come in . . .” As he said this, he wondered if that wasn’t a mistake; Seishirou would probably not be pleased. Then again, Seimei had never been instructed on what to do if the Sumeragi Clan Head suddenly showed up at their apartment.
“Is Seishirou-san in?” Subaru asked politely, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes.
“I’m afraid he’s in the shower . . .” Seimei said hesitantly. “But you’re welcome to wait. Would you like some tea?”
“Tea would be nice, thank you,” Subaru said, watching Seimei skitter into the kitchen. It seemed truly bizarre that any child of Seishirou’s could be that polite. Seimei was back within seconds with a fresh mug of tea.
“Um, please sit down,” he said, motioning towards the living room, which had a very comfortable couch and armchair. “He should be out shortly.” He knew that his duty was to entertain guests, but he was still more than slightly afraid of Subaru and unsure of how to proceed.
Subaru settled himself in the armchair and gave Seimei a disarming smile. “I’m not going to bite you. Relax.”
“But . . . can’t just leave you in here, it’d be rude.” Seimei’s eyes darted to the kitchen and the vegetables he was supposed to be chopping.
Subaru glanced around the apartment. “Do you live here?” he asked curiously. He still wasn’t sure how, after nine years of stalking, the fact that Seishirou had a son had escaped his knowledge. He seemed to remember Seishirou saying something about the living arrangements while he’d been in the hospital, but their conversation was surprisingly fuzzy. He remembered the important parts, but the smaller details had been lost on him.
“Only on the weekends.” Seimei realized that more information than that was probably necessary, and hastily added, “The rest of the time I stay with my mother.”
“Ah,” Subaru said, and apparently lost his curiosity. Fortunately for both of them, the water shut off at that moment and both of them glanced at the hallway. “He was out on a job, I take it?”
“A-Aa,” Seimei stammered, not sure at all how to take this question.
The door to the bathroom opened and Seishirou wandered out, with only a towel wrapped around his waist and dripping water everywhere. He preferred to air dry. “Sei-kun, did you -- ” He stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow, greeted with Seimei, who had an utterly horrified look on his face, and Subaru, who looked somewhat glossy eyed. “Oh. Konban wa, Subaru-kun.”
“Dad!” Seimei was completely appalled. “Put some clothes on!”
Seishirou shrugged, obviously not caring in the slightest if Subaru saw him half-naked. “I don’t have anything he’s never seen,” he remarked off-handedly. “How long have you been here, Subaru-kun?”
Subaru shook himself out of his daze. “Only a few minutes.”
Seimei was practically hyperventilating from the sheer impropriety of it, but found himself unable to leave the room. It was sort of like watching a train wreck. “But Dad -- ”
“It’s okay,” Seishirou said, turning a reassuring smile on Seimei. “Subaru-kun and I are very close.”
“Not that close,” Subaru said coldly. “Go put some clothes on before your son dies.”
A smile twitched at Seishirou’s lips. “Subaru-kun, you’re no fun anymore.”
“And whose fault is that?” Subaru called after him as Seishirou went into the bedroom. He waited patiently for Seishirou to come back. Conversation with Seimei seemed impossible, seeing as he had melted onto the couch, pressing his hands against his face and muttering to himself.
Seishirou returned a minute later in a white T-shirt and loose jeans. That alone was enough to make Subaru stare again; he’d never seen Seishirou in anything even remotely casual before. “Look at that, you do own something besides a suit.”
“Indeed,” Seishirou answered, getting himself a mug of tea and sitting on the couch next to Seimei. “Was this just a social call, or were you trying to give my son a heart attack?”
“You’re the one that gave your son a heart attack,” Subaru pointed out.
“The Clan Head of the Sumeragis showing up on the Sakurazukamori’s doorstep is enough to give anyone a heart attack.”
“I didn’t know Seimei-san was going to be here.”
“I told you he stayed here on the weekends; you could have figured it out.”
“Ah, yes. You gave me that lovely bit of information when, I think, I was quite frankly drugged out of my mind, which was how long ago now? and I do believe the last time we spoke.” Subaru had a charming smile on his face.
Seishirou looked slightly shifty-eyed. “That was five days ago, I do believe. Maybe six.”
“Try eight.”
“Ah,” Seishirou said. “You seem to have recovered quite well . . .”
Seimei looked between the two of them, resembling a spectator at a tennis match, and hoped fervently that he was blending into the upholstery.
“Yes. It probably wouldn’t have been so startling if you had kept in touch.”
Seishirou cleared his throat. “Sei-kun, why don’t you go finish dinner?”
“Right!” Seimei thanked God and bolted for the kitchen. He would have vaulted over the back of the sofa if he’d thought he could pull it off.
“You’ve traumatized him,” Seishirou said, sounding distinctly amused.
“I hardly think he’s scarred for life.”
“Mm. Teenagers are usually quite resilient.”
“Aren’t they, though.”
Seishirou just looked at him, sipping his tea.
“So, were you trying to just jerk me around, or did you just turn into an idiot later?” Subaru asked brightly.
“I was not jerking you around,” Seishirou said calmly.
“So you’re admitting you’re an idiot? Or did you merely forget how to use a phone? Or a calendar? Or a watch? Or anything else?”
Seishirou looked away for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was very carefully controlled. “As much fun as our talk in the hospital might have been, it occurred to me later that it probably wasn’t the best of ideas.”
“Enlighten me,” Subaru said, sounding both irritated and impatient. The sound of Seimei chopping vegetables in the kitchen was suddenly very loud.
“It just struck me that, given that we’re on opposite sides in the coming battle, this probably wouldn’t be the best time to strike up a friendship,” Seishirou said coolly.
“I thought you weren’t helping Fuuma,” Subaru said, just as cool.
“I’m not,” Seishirou said. “Yet.”
“Yet?”
Seishirou just shrugged.
Subaru gestured to the kitchen. “Oh, yes. Ending humanity would be such a lovely idea.”
Seishirou sipped his tea, apparently unperturbed by this statement. “I have no desire to end humanity, but as an Angel I have a duty. Thus far I haven’t been called to uphold it, and I hope I never am, but it could happen.”
“You are so full of shit,” Subaru stated flatly.
“Besides,” Seishirou said with another shrug, “I figured that, as you were drugged out of your mind and saying things you never would have said when you were sober, it didn’t count for much anyway.”
“Nothing ever counts for anything with you unless you want it to,” Subaru snapped.
“Guilty as charged.” Seishirou kept calmly drinking his tea.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Does it matter if I am? It’s obviously not working.”
“You can’t get rid of me, but if you keep this up, I may just learn to hate you,” Subaru said bitterly.
“That would probably be best for you,” Seishirou said, his voice slightly strained.
“What would be best for me is if you just got over yourself and finished what you started,” Subaru said sharply.
Seishirou didn’t reply.
Subaru very carefully set his mug down on the side table, stood up, slapped Seishirou as hard as he possibly could across the face, picked up his shoes, and walked out without bothering to stop and put them on.
Seimei crept out of the kitchen. “Uh . . . you okay?” There was a large red mark across Seishirou’s face, and he did not look very happy with the present situation. He blinked at Seimei slowly, as if he had forgotten his son was there.
“No,” he said heavily. “I’m not.”
Seimei paused a minute to hide his absolute shock that Seishirou had actually admitted to not being okay, in front of him. “Uh . . . I can get you some ice.”
Seishirou put one hand to his cheek as if in reminder of the injury. “No, that’s okay.”
“Uhhh . . . is there anything I can do?” Seimei asked hesitantly, realizing that he was starting all his sentences with ‘uh’ and he really ought to cut that out.
“I’ll be all right,” Seishirou said distantly.
“I-I’ll just . . . go finish dinner. If you want something, let me know.” Seimei dodged back into the kitchen before he could hear Seishirou’s reply or lack of it. ::Tree-san?::
The Tree responded immediately, which meant it had been watching. ::Yes?::
::Help me!::
::With what? You seem to be doing fine.::
::What is going on?:: he asked, frustrated.
::You should ask him that, not me.::
::But he’s messed up right now.::
::Yeah, and he’s an idiot, but he’s also in some dire need of comfort that he won’t accept from anyone else. Believe it or not, he would really appreciate it right now.::
::Really?::
::Really really. Off with you.::
::Wait wait wait! How should I start this conversation?:: Seimei asked frantically. He was ready to kill the Tree if it chose not to reply.
::Sit down, give him a fresh mug of tea, and ask him what’s wrong. Silly question. Now go on, I’m tired. I got a big dinner.::
::Okay.:: Seimei did as he was instructed, getting a mug of tea and walking hesitantly out into the living room, where Seishirou was still sitting, staring at the wall. The mark on his cheek hadn’t even begun to fade. Seimei noted that it was an almost perfect handprint.
Seimei sat down on the couch gingerly and handed him the mug. “Can I ask what’s wrong?”
Seishirou looked at the mug for a long minute, then took a sip. “Subaru and I have a rather . . . complicated relationship.”
Seimei ground his teeth. Dad, you’re not helping me here. “How so?”
“He loves me,” Seishirou said simply. “And I keep telling him no.”
Seimei was torn. He wanted to ask about a billion questions, and wasn’t sure which ones would be acceptable and which wouldn’t. Eventually he settled for something generic. “It seems more complicated than that.”
“Yes, well, I also broke his heart and murdered his sister.”
Seimei looked pained for a minute, then said, “Humor me. Can I have the story from the beginning?”
“I’ll give the abbreviated version,” Seishirou said. “We had a bet that if he could teach me how to feel, teach me that humans are worth something, then I wouldn’t kill him. Unfortunately, I had erased his memory so he didn’t know about this bet. I spent a year with him, during which he fell in love with me. He was sixteen at the time; I was twenty-five, don’t accuse me of cradle robbing or I won’t say another word. At the end of the year, I decided he had lost the bet and was going to kill him, but his sister offered her life up in his place, which I took. We’ve spent the last nine years cheerfully stalking each other. He’s still in love with me, no matter how hard I try to make him hate me instead. That sum it up for you?”
“Loosely,” Seimei said, mulling all this over. “We’ll start at the beginning. Do you think people are worth anything?”
Seishirou considered it for a long minute, staring into his tea mug. “It depends on the person,” he said. “I still find myself unable to consider faceless people I’ve never met as anything other than objects. But the people that I’m close to . . . they mean more than that. Of course, they number two, but who’s counting.”
Seimei assumed he was one of the two, and didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if his father wanted him, or cared about him in the slightest, but he did know that he was closer to Seishirou than almost anyone else on the planet. Therefore it stood to reason that he was one of those people. “Then why did you say he’d lost the bet?”
Seishirou shrugged. “Because I wasn’t sure, and to this day I’m not, that Subaru was the one who taught me that people were worth something.”
Seimei frowned for a minute. “So why were you stalking him if he didn’t mean anything?”
“Amusement value, mostly.” Seishirou did not look proud of this fact.
“Your logic is flawed,” Seimei said, still frowning slightly. “If he doesn’t mean anything to you, why do you care that he’s in love with you?”
Seishirou stared at him, totally dumbfounded. “I’ve been foiled by a fifteen year old,” he said, in a wondering tone.
“You never thought of that?” Seimei asked incredulously.
“No,” Seishirou said. “For some reason I never did.”
“So does he mean something or doesn’t he?”
“I suppose he must.” Seishirou lit up a cigarette and took a long drag on it, exhaling smoke in a frustrated manner.
“Well, if he does mean something, what does he mean?” Seimei asked curiously.
Seishirou gave him a look. “I just figured out thirty seconds ago that he undeniably did mean something. You think I’ve figured out what he means yet? Give me a few years and then ask me that again.”
“Okay, isn’t he mad about the sister thing? Or were they not close?” Seimei reflected that he’d been doing an awful lot of talking sense into people for one day.
“They were quite close. Twins, in fact. As to why Subaru isn’t mad at me about it, I must confess I have absolutely not the slightest clue.”
“I have another question, and this one is purely just to indulge my curiosity,” Seimei said after a moment. “When I first met him, he had . . . both eyes. I just have to know.”
Seishirou laughed slightly. “I lost my eye defending Subaru, only a few days before I tried to kill him. He apparently thought it was divine justice to lose his own.”
“Oh,” Seimei said, reflecting upon the idiocy of this. “Wait, wait. Tried to kill him?”
“Well, he isn’t dead, is he?”
“No, but last time I checked you didn’t try to kill people. You succeeded.”
“I got distracted,” Seishirou said stiffly.
“Distracted by what?” Seimei asked, obviously not believing a word of this rather lame excuse.
“His grandmother interfered.” Seishirou was beginning to sound annoyed.
“She must be a force to be reckoned with.”
“I suppose you could put it that way.”
“Where were his parents?” Seimei asked curiously.
Seishirou looked slightly puzzled at this total non sequitir, though the logic had made sense in Seimei’s head. “They’re both dead. I don’t know how his mother died. His father was killed by my mother.”
“This is all totally twisted,” Seimei stated.
Seishirou reflected that Seimei had no idea how twisted it was, really. He still hadn’t even mentioned that he’d made the bet with a nine year old, never told Subaru his true identity until the last minute, or Hokuto’s last spell. “Yeah.”
“May I suggest, not to overstep my bounds, but I’m not sure you necessarily have a few years to figure out what Sumeragi-san means to you.”
“The world won’t end,” Seishirou said, with certainty.
“How do you figure?”
Seishirou shrugged. “Because Fuuma doesn’t want it to.”
“I’m so confused,” Seimei said, drooping.
“Fuuma is the leader of the Angels, who are supposed to be destroying the world. But he’s not trying. He’s doing just enough to look like he’s trying, and nothing more. He hasn’t attempted to track down any of the Angels who aren’t cooperating, including myself. He hasn’t killed any of the Seals, when I know he’s had a chance. He’s playing, but he doesn’t want the world to end. Therefore it won’t.”
“Well, if he doesn’t want the world to end, why doesn’t he just surrender?” Seimei asked.
Seishirou sighed slightly. “Because destiny doesn’t work that way, Sei-kun. Fuuma has been chosen for a role and he must play it. He has to fight Kamui on the Final Day. How well or badly he plays the role is up to him, but he can’t simply not do it.”
“Oh,” Seimei said. “Let me guess -- no one’s supposed to know this.”
“That Fuuma doesn’t want to end the world, you mean?” Seishirou asked. “No. And I’m fairly sure that so far, no one knows besides myself and most likely Kakyou, the Dreamgazer. He and Fuuma seem quite . . . friendly with each other.” He smirked slightly. “Also, Kakyou is annoyingly hard to deceive.”
“How so?”
Seishirou glanced at him and decided to give the generalities, not the specifics. “Kakyou sees people’s dreams, which means that quite often he is able to see their most secret wishes.”
“Seems kind of . . . like spying,” Seimei said.
Seishirou coughed slightly. “Yes, it really does.”
“Should I not ask?”
“Probably not.”
“Hisoka will find out that Fuuma doesn’t want to end the world,” Seimei pointed out.
“Why?”
“Because he and Tsuzuki are determined to find Fuuma, and once they do, Hisoka is an empath. Fuuma won’t be able to fool him.”
Seishirou shrugged. “Fuuma can deal with it when it happens. It’s not my business.”
“Do you feel better?” Seimei asked after a long minute of silence.
“A little,” Seishirou admitted. He had managed to steer the conversation around most of what was bothering him, in any case.
“So why did he, uh,” Seimei gestured to Seishirou’s face, “hit you?”
“Because I was asking for it,” Seishirou replied.
“Yes, but I mean, what was the . . . what did he mean you weren’t calling? Were you supposed to be? I thought you were only stalking him . . . I’m so confused.”
Seishirou sighed. There seemed to be no getting around the rest of the interrogation, so he may as well make it as quick and painless as possible. “After Subaru lost his eye, I visited him in the hospital. He was drugged on painkillers and I was worried about him; the net result is that we had a long talk which, I’m afraid to say, promised more than I was willing to give. I didn’t exactly do it on purpose . . . he just seemed to need comfort very badly, and . . .” He shrugged and sighed slightly. “Anyway, I left in the morning and didn’t call, and he was angry.”
“Oh,” Seimei said, and ran back over the conversation in his mind. “He said he was going to start to hate you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? So why are you upset?”
Seishirou sighed again and finished his cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray on the side table. “That’s what I want for him. It’s not necessarily what I want for me.”
“Well, what do you want?” Seimei asked, blinking owlishly at him.
“Dinner,” Seishirou said, and headed for the kitchen.
“Unfair!” Seimei trailed after him. “Give me a real answer!”
“No,” Seishirou said calmly.
There were quite a few things that Seimei wanted to say, but he had exercised all his bravery for the evening, and Seishirou seemed to have exercised all his compassion. There was not much else he could say.
~~~~
Tsuzuki was not surprised that Muraki knew, not only what hotel they were staying in, but what room they were in as well. He resisted the urge to flinch as there was a knock on the door. Hisoka opened his mouth, considered saying something, and then shut it, looking moody. He knew there was no way to talk Tsuzuki out of going, and considered that he would be selfish to ask.
Muraki was very punctual, dressed in one of his nicer suits, and naturally holding a large bouquet of wine red roses. Tsuzuki grit his teeth, hoping that Muraki didn’t make any of his comments about how roses made him think of Tsuzuki. He might have to punch him, and that wouldn’t start the evening off on the right foot.
“Konban wa, Tsuzuki-san,” Muraki said congenially, and offered him the roses.
Tsuzuki breathed a slight sigh of disappointment that Muraki wasn’t late (or better yet, didn’t come) and managed a polite smile in return. He hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion, and was wearing the same type of suit he wore every day. “Konban wa,” he said in reply, accepting the roses and being very careful not to touch Muraki in the process. “Give me a moment to take care of these.”
“Of course.” Muraki stepped inside to wait, without being invited. He glanced over at Hisoka and offered him a friendly smile. Hisoka folded his arms over his chest and scowled back with everything he had.
“Please wait here,” Tsuzuki said to Muraki, his smile already looking rather strained.
Muraki did as he was told, making no move to speak to Hisoka while he waited. Tsuzuki glanced around the room, doing a cursory search for something to put the roses in, but found nothing. He settled for dumping them in the sink instead, running some water in to keep them fresh. He wondered if pulling all the petals off would make him feel better.
He returned to the main room, still with his polite smile. “Shall we go?”
“Of course,” Muraki repeated, and smiled again at Hisoka.
Hisoka took offense to this, but said nothing to him. He simply turned to Tsuzuki. “Be careful.”
Tsuzuki’s smile became somewhat more bright and genuine as he turned it onto Hisoka. “I will.” He wasn’t worried. Tatsumi knew their plans and was going to be watching, to make sure that nothing went wrong.
Hisoka knew this, so he merely nodded, giving Muraki a look that could have peeled paint. Muraki took Tsuzuki’s coat off the hook by the door and offered it to him. Tsuzuki took it and led Muraki out, not wanting him to be near Hisoka anymore, or he was going to explode. Muraki even held the door, being quite the gentleman. Tsuzuki wanted to strangle him.
Muraki went down the stairs and outside, where there was a rather expensive looking car, complete with chauffer. Tsuzuki had no idea where he’d gotten it and didn’t really care. Muraki obviously intended to make it to the restaurant before settling down to talk business. Tsuzuki wanted, more than ever, to messily murder him.
“Where are we going?” he managed. He even managed not to sound like he was talking through clenched teeth, which he was. “Do you have a restaurant picked out?”
“Yes, I know just the place,” Muraki said, with a smile that Tsuzuki assumed was supposed to be charming.
“May I ask where?” Tsuzuki asked coldly, getting into the car. He was somewhat relieved to see that they weren’t separated from the driver by glass, so it wasn’t likely that Muraki would try anything while in the car, the one place Tatsumi would have difficulty showing up to rescue him.
“It’s a surprise,” Muraki told him, following him in.
“I’m not fond of surprises,” Tsuzuki said, his polite demeanor faltering.
“Really?” Muraki asked, as if he were actually surprised by this. “In that case, you need to learn to be a little more spontaneous.”
“I’m sure there are quite a few things I need to learn,” Tsuzuki commented, as the car pulled out into traffic, “but I’d prefer if you weren’t my teacher.”
Muraki’s smile never wavered. “Tsuzuki-san, that’s so cold of you.”
“My apologies,” Tsuzuki replied, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.
The rest of the mercifully brief drive passed in silence, at which point Tsuzuki inwardly groaned to see the very small, very intimate looking cafe that Muraki had chosen. He glared daggers at the man, then looked away as Muraki smiled, amused. He didn’t comment; just got out of the car and headed inside. Muraki followed. Apparently he was well-known at this place, as he simply nodded at the host and headed to a table, a fact which made Tsuzuki very nervous. He didn’t like the thought of being among Muraki’s friends.
The table Muraki chose was naturally in a corner, rather dim and very private. Tsuzuki rolled his eyes and again resisted the urge to strangle. Muraki pulled out a chair and he sat, attempting to be gracious. Muraki sat across from him and waved to the waiter, who immediately brought over a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Tsuzuki scanned the restaurant, looking for Tatsumi. There was no sign of the shadowmaster, but Tsuzuki was sure that he was there anyway.
“Like the restaurant?” Muraki asked, attempting to sound innocent.
“Very private,” Tsuzuki agreed, his hands twitching.
Muraki watched while the wine was poured, ignoring Tsuzuki’s inattention as he continued to glance around the restaurant. He sipped the wine and made a comment about its quality that Tsuzuki didn’t even hear. He simply waited for the waiter to leave, then looked at Muraki. “So, where is he?” he asked, his voice pleasant enough. He picked up his glass of wine, but didn’t drink.
Muraki smiled. “You seem to want to rush through this, Tsuzuki-san.”
“I do,” Tsuzuki said flatly, resisting the urge to add ‘obviously.’ “But aside from that. I’ve let you make all the arrangements, and now I’m in a nice secluded place, just like you intended. You’ve gotten some of what you want, now it’s time to give me the information I came for.”
Muraki considered this, swirling his wine around in his glass. “All right, that’s fair. He’s in Tokyo.”
To Tsuzuki’s credit, the wine glass in Muraki’s hand didn’t shatter. His temper very nearly did. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that if it was necessary, they could always find Fuuma another way and he could walk out on this stupid date. “Fine. That bit for getting me to a secluded place. But I get another for coming into our hotel room without permission.”
“You didn’t tell me not to come in,” Muraki replied, still sounding quite amused.
Tsuzuki looked at him in disgust. “You know that one should always wait for an invitation.”
“I suppose I should,” Muraki said, with an elegant shrug. His fingers were practically caressing the wine glass. Tsuzuki wanted to break them. “But why bother pressing for one tiny bit of information when I’ll tell you everything after dinner?”
Tsuzuki kept his temper with great effort. “I have an idea.”
“Oh?” Muraki asked, his fingers stopping in their movements briefly.
“Why don’t you just tell me where Fuuma is, specifically,” Tsuzuki suggested, “because I don’t trust you to not try to drag this out. And for that information, now, I agree to sit and have dinner with you. I’ll even stay for dessert.”
“Why should I trust you if you don’t trust me?” Muraki asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tsuzuki smiled and sipped his wine. “Because I have a history of keeping my word, whereas you have a history of manipulating and lies.”
“I made a deal that I would tell you Monou’s location in return for dinner,” Muraki said. “That implies that dinner comes first.”
“It implies an exchange,” Tsuzuki said. “Order not specified. And if we do it your way, you have to tell me right after dinner. If you tell me now you get to keep me through dessert as well, and that wasn’t part of the original deal.”
Muraki considered for a long moment, then smiled. “You drive a hard bargain, Tsuzuki-san. For a minute I’d almost forgotten why I wanted you so badly.”
Tsuzuki just smiled pleasantly, vowing inwardly to walk out if Muraki spoke one more sentence that wasn’t Monou Fuuma’s whereabouts.
“All right, if you promise to stay,” Muraki said with another shrug. “Monou is staying with some of the other Angels, underneath the Government Center building.”
“Thank you,” Tsuzuki said graciously, and opened his menu. Muraki opened his as well, but mostly just watched Tsuzuki over the top of it. Tsuzuki let him, not particularly caring if the man stared at him, as long as he didn’t do anything else. The waiter whisked over practically the second that Tsuzuki had put his menu down, and took both their orders.
“Are you enjoying Tokyo?” Muraki asked, still smiling at Tsuzuki benevolently.
“Of course.” Tsuzuki was not about to be deterred from the subject at hand. He sipped his wine, reflecting that he was really being a pretty good sport about the whole thing. “May I ask how you came across Monou-san’s whereabouts?”
“I do a small job for him,” Muraki said, openly watching Tsuzuki’s every move.
Tsuzuki decided to allow it, as long as Muraki kept talking. “What is it?” he asked, genuinely interested.
“Given that you’re not acquainted with the Angels, I doubt it would mean much to you,” Muraki replied.
“I’m a detective,” Tsuzuki reminded him. “Everything means something to me.”
Muraki smiled suddenly. “I suppose you’d be happiest if I just told you everything I knew.”
Tsuzuki nodded and smiled back brightly. “And I’ll be a more personable dinner companion.”
“Are you acquainted with any of the Angels?” Muraki asked.
“I’ve heard briefly of Sakurazuka-san,” Tsuzuki replied. He had, in fact, sat through most of a brief rant that Hisoka had launched upon, having to do with the Sakurazukamori’s peculiar relationship with his son. He didn’t think this was particularly any of Muraki’s business, however. “But none of the others.”
“Well,” Muraki said, “one of them happens to be a bioroid that needs regular maintainence. Monou hired me to take care of that.”
“Ah.” Tsuzuki considered this for a long minute. “How did he become aware of your knowledge on the subject? I didn’t think you advertised.”
Muraki looked amused. On second thought, Tsuzuki decided it was rather funny. He could see the classified now. ‘Available -- one mad scientist. Will do anything up to and including murder. Confidentiality assured.’ “I don’t,” Muraki said, after a pause. “One of the other Angels is a computer expert. That’s how he found me.”
“I see.” Tsuzuki paused as their food arrived, then began to eat at a sedate pace. What he really wanted to do was gulp it all down, but he’d only end up with a stomachache and he wouldn’t get away from Muraki any sooner.
“Anything else you’d care to know?” Muraki asked, beginning to eat his food . . . slowly.
“It would be nice to hear about the rest of the people Monou-san works with,” Tsuzuki told him.
“I’m not terribly acquainted with them,” Muraki replied. “Just the girl, the bioroid, and Monou himself. I’ve only met two others, and briefly at that.”
“I see,” Tsuzuki repeated, swallowing his disappointment. It would’ve been nice to learn something about each of them. “Is there anything else you can tell me that I might find interesting?”
Muraki smirked. “I still think you’re beautiful.” He leaned across the table and caressed Tsuzuki’s cheek. “Is that interesting?”
“Quite.” Tsuzuki leaned back, out of Muraki’s touch. “But hardly anything new. Please don’t touch. I agreed to dinner and dessert. Nothing else.”
Muraki’s smile didn’t falter, but it became a little stiff. “There’s no need to be hostile, Tsuzuki-san.”
“I wasn’t,” Tsuzuki said, carefully keeping his voice neutral. “Just stating the bonds of the agreement.”
They sat for a brief while in silence, while Muraki ate every mouthful as slowly as he possibly could. “So,” he said, after the pause, “why are you looking for Monou?”
Tsuzuki saw no reason to hide everything, though he would keep certain pieces of information to himself (such as Kamui’s location). Muraki already seemed to know enough about the situation to make prevarication pointless. “Originally, we were assigned to investigate the death of his sister,” he finally said. “It only makes sense that we would check up on him as well.”
“Yet you’ve shown no surprise at my use of the word Angels, or the fact that I called him the Dark Kamui,” Muraki said calmly. “So you’re obviously invested somehow in the end of the world.”
Tsuzuki shrugged slightly. “Isn’t everybody?”
“Not the ignorant,” Muraki replied.
“They would be if they knew,” Tsuzuki said with another shrug. “And I know. So it only makes sense that I’m interested.” He didn’t really want Muraki to realize the exact specifics of their assignment. That might allow him to anticipate them, and in Tsuzuki’s opinion, no good ever came of that.
“But you seem interested in interfering,” Muraki pressed, obviously intent on knowing the specifics, whether Tsuzuki wanted to tell him or not.
“Aren’t you interested?” Tsuzuki countered. “Beyond your work for Monou-san?”
Muraki smiled. “Interested, yes. Interfering, not yet.”
“We’re just watching how it unfolds,” Tsuzuki said casually, hoping Muraki would get a clue and drop it.
Muraki didn’t exactly drop it, but he at least changed the subject slightly. “Then why are you so intent on finding Monou? Surely you could just watch from afar.”
“Not if we don’t know where he is,” Tsuzuki said, in the tone of voice that implied Muraki should have been able to figure that out himself.
“You were bound to find him,” Muraki said, shrugging. “He’s not very discreet when he attacks kekkai.”
“True,” Tsuzuki admitted, “but this was much quicker.”
“But you had to endure my frightful company,” Muraki said, with another one of his supposedly charming smiles.
“You’re not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Tsuzuki said mildly, focusing his attention on the last three bites of his meal.
“No?” Muraki asked, sounding both amused and disappointed at the same time. “I never would have guessed from the way you act around me.” He was only halfway through his meal, which didn’t please Tsuzuki in the slightest. In response to Tsuzuki’s shrug, Muraki smiled. “I’ll have to try harder.”
Tsuzuki raised an eyebrow. “Is your goal to be the worst thing that ever happened to me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what are you trying harder to achieve?” Tsuzuki asked, curious in spite of himself.
Muraki reached out, ignoring Tsuzuki’s edict about no touching, and ran his fingers through Tsuzuki’s hair. “For you to be mine,” he said, as if there were absolutely no question about this subject.
Tsuzuki moved out of his range, pushing his chair back. “I’m afraid you don’t get to have me.”
Muraki just smiled, his hand lingering in midair. “For now, Tsuzuki-san.”
“Think whatever you wish,” Tsuzuki said, watching the hand in case it tried to touch him again.
Muraki let it drop back to the table, pushing his plate of food aside, then signalling the waiter to take their dessert orders. “I think I will. But you must admit that sometimes hatred is better than indifference.”
“I wouldn’t want to venture a guess,” Tsuzuki said coolly.
“No?” Muraki asked. “You wouldn’t rather be hated than ignored?”
“That,” Tsuzuki said, “depends entirely on the person and the situation.” When it came to Hisoka, he really wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Either would be horrible. Tsuzuki had been sure, at the beginning, that he and Hisoka would never get along. But they had, and now Tsuzuki frankly couldn’t imagine his life without the green-eyed Shinigami.
And Hisoka had, at times, dropped hints about perhaps being more. Hints that Tsuzuki had always chosen to ignore, because they quite frankly frightened him. He didn’t know how to react to Hisoka’s growing affection. In time, he supposed Hisoka might come to hate him for that. In retrospect, maybe it really would be better to be ignored.
As he ordered dessert, he pondered what Muraki had meant by the statement. Did he truly care for Tsuzuki so much that being ignored was unbearable, and thus he would rather be hated?
Tsuzuki considered it for a long minute, and was relieved to find that he didn’t hate Muraki any less.
~~~~~
Chapter Thirteen
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