#zetsubocho

[shekofeh]

in the night sky lies her regret. to forget her wrongdoings of days that are gone is an act of cowardice, a violence so known that it lingers in the past. to carry the weight of her burdens is simply the trial of living, of survival, and it is one shams knows to endure until the world the world lays her to rest. it is why, when she looks at higashi, she can tell he struggles with the facade he seems to carry around. and it is why she has tried her best to avoid being seen with him in public for his sake. at least one thing off his shoulders, no? she tires of it, really, this cruelty. the blood on her hands serve as a reminder of the horrid past meant to be remembered. it is a haunting, these phantom ties. its thorns take hold of her being, burning and burning and burning into her mind and flesh in memory of those she no longer speaks to. for her own sake, she supposes.

she was this close to seeing the weight take over her brother, she really hoped it wouldn't take over higashi too. shams has survived her loneliness through the protection of others. it is all she used to know. once upon a time, she used to believe it is all she is meant for, after all. it was her redemption, words spoken for her own sake, her own comfort, but redemption is something unreasonable, just as the loss of loneliness is. she'd seen it in him. her head shakes softly as she takes a look at the shelves. in her arms are a mismatched array of products. cup ramen, stacks of surimi sticks, a bento, a bottle of barley tea. tired fingers trail along the plasticized polystyrene. it's dark out, the world beyond her local poppo illuminated only by distant city lights and passing cars. occasionally, the store's bell will toll, but otherwise it's silent. she's spent. she knows she needs this, an unhealthy midnight treat.

weary feet carry her to the freezer, to eye a bundle of honeydew popsicles. she could eat one on the way back, but by then it'll have melted— she could eat it before the ramen, but that would make her feel even more like a mess. hair a mess, face a mess, bags under her eyes and an oversized hoodie draped around her, sweatpants and shoes below her waist. she can't really be bothered to perform on a day off. she doesn't mind, truly, glad she's allowed a moment's respite. that is, of course, until she hears the bell again and as she turns around, she sees the very man she's been trying to stay away from. just great. her head tilts, practiced smile coming easy to her. ❛ hm? you're up late. ❜ she takes a look at him, eyebrow rising. she's only trying to make him mad, for old time's sake. ❛ you should really tuck your shirt in, higashi. it only makes you look funny. we can't have that, can we? ❜

❛ i know what you’re doing. you’re baiting me. ❜ she hears @zetsubocho say.

she gives him a small laugh, something soft and genuine this time. ❛ look at that. our higashi is growing up. ❜ at that, he only raises his eyebrow at her in annoyance, and she takes it as a note that he's actually serious. she lets out a sigh and asks him to follow her. ❛ come then, i need to pay for this stuff first. ❜ she quickly moves to her original spot and grabs a second bento from there before she swipes her card, still staring at him out of the corner of her eye. the cashier bows and she returns it, gathering her products, turning on her heel to scope out somewhere to sit through the windows. she supposes the side walk will do for now. she beckons him to follow her as they finally sit down somewhere safe outside of the view of the common and uncommon eye and hums. she takes a look at him as he takes a cigarette from his pocket and just before he manages to light it, she takes it from him. ❛ don't smoke so much. what is wrong with you? ❜

it's only worry that makes her say this, but just as he's about to respond, she opens the bento boxes and takes a few pieces of grilled fish and tofu from the box she placed next to her to put it inside the one she originally bought him. as she finishes setting it up the way she wants to, she hands it to him, her head tilting softly. ❛ eat this instead. ❜ she lets out a breath. the view from where they plop down to stretch her weary legs is familiar, soothing her: twinkling stars dimmed by light pollution, cars driving by, blinking street lamps. the sky is vast and wide, the moon hidden behind a cluster of blue clouds. a word sits on the back of her tongue and stays there, heavy like lead, she swallows it while taking a bite of the broccoli in her own box. a minute passes, silently. she knows higashi is watching. waiting. ❛ i know what you want to hear from me. but you're not gonna like it. ❜

a series of beeps resound behind her, idle chatter having died down into hushed whispers. she can't see them, her back turned, but she could wager a guess as to what they're whispering about. it makes her smile. she turns her head so she can look at him again. ❛ i've noticed, you know. you're struggling with it. ❜ she notices his body language and pauses as she rethinks her next words. ❛ the pressure is never easy, i know, and i would usually not say anything unless someone would want to talk about it. but i'm part of the reason this time. i don't want to be selfish. ❜ she smiles softly. ❛ don't get me wrong. i'm grateful for what you're doing, especially for kaito. and yagami, even though you'd hate to admit it, but kaito is your sworn brother. there's a depth to that. you have no reason to put yourself in danger when it comes to me. and i won't let you. ❜ because it's clear in her eyes. hamura has never quite liked her.

because he could never figure her out, because he knew matsugane knew something he wasn't telling him, because shams is simply shams, as adamant as the sun. and she would usually manage him by herself, but now that she realized that higashi is in the middle of it all, how could she continue normally knowing hamura is causing him more harm than he can handle? ❛ i think you get what i'm trying to say, no? it's only for a little while, really, but i don't want to see you get hurt so much just for my sake, you know. i just need to keep a distance for now, okay? ❜ she takes a bite of her rice. ❛ this is my way of looking out for you for now. it's a little hard not to worry. ❜ she shakes her head again. ❛ my line of work is not as simple as one might think, higashi. i would rather nothing happens to you if i can help it. you have enough to worry about already. ❜ a pause. ❛ when things go back to normal, i'll come see you at charles. until then, this is the best way right now. ❜

[shekofeh]

it's only been a few days since her trip to okinawa had started, but it's still the same level of excitement she's had since the minute she's landed here. the sun is beginning to set, melting like on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down her wrist. it was the same sunset, she remembers, that shams had visited kiryū in after she had her first break from university. the pink and orange only made him seem more peaceful, somehow. she recalls how this fact alone gave her a sudden urge she didn't quite understand. but now when she looks back at it, it seems that it was the same protective sense he had shown her last year that she wanted to give him in return. it seemed so simple, but watching him enjoy life at morning glory was enough to promise herself that she'll come if he ever needed her. her head tilts and when the breeze places a stripe across her cheek, she detects him closing his eyes and exhaling. she lets out a breath herself.

at the scene in front of her, she remembers the day her aunt had taken her to the aquarium when she was a teenager, perhaps the only time she's been allowed on a trip that doesn't involve the network. she focuses on the thought and turns to look at him. ❛ hey. ❜ the smile that follows is one she doesn't quite show often, almost childlike in a sense. one that belongs to a woman who very rarely was given the gift of just existing. ❛ do you guys see jellyfish here? i saw them once when i visited an aquarium in tōkyō. they look like brides. ❜ her face almost lights up at the thought. ❛ so pretty, too. how they dance in dresses and frills and puffy jelly sleeves. you know what i mean? ❜ she straightens and turns her head towards him. ❛ oh, and the penguins! i suppose you can't really have penguins here. ❜ and almost immediately, she lets out a sigh. it's weird, really, but she's feeling nostalgic for a life she never really had.

❛ it may sound a little stupid, but i always used to think about all the places i wanted to go to as a kid. you know, like, parks and arcades. my father always kept me hidden from everything and everyone. there's a lot i missed. especially after i finished school. it used to be the only time when i could talk to people around me without the thought of who i really am being in the back of my head. ❜ she supposes he did get what he had wished for in the end, but there had always been a disconnect between what shams saw and what her father saw. she used to think about it so often. around her were the echoes of people’s voices, of laughter and banter, the clinking of bottles and ice cubes clashing against ice cubes like teeth gnashing teeth. she was never part of it. her head tilts and she speaks again. ❛ maybe i also missed how to really see people. i don't seem to get it, you know. ❜

and the next words that leave @zetsubocho cut right through her. ❛ you can’t quantify humanity. you can’t measure it– not the way you mean to. people are passionate and flawed and fallible. they make mistakes. their memories fade. their eyes deceive them. ❜

when she finally raises her head, kiryū is looking at her, looking through her. kindly, patiently, like someone who doesn't need much to understand what goes through her mind. it used to drive her insane, but now, she is more grateful for it than anything. she notices him focusing on her expression properly this time, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for her response. she musters up the will to nod, smiling in a way that shows she's still deep in thought. ❛ i know. it was never other people's humanity that was the issue. i've always seen it so clearly. so openly. i used to think people are like little lights in the night, you know. with all their dreams and passions and hope. ❜ she shakes her head. she almost feels like laughing, but the seriousness of the topic refuses to let her. this might be the first time she openly admits what she is about to admit. and to kiryū of all people.

it's not the first time someone has realized this about her, no, but hearing herself talk about it breaks down a wall she never knew was right in front of her. ❛ the problem is me. ❜ the next sentence comes out in a whisper. ❛ i'm worried i'm not a very good person. ❜ silence fills the open air. she says it so casually that if it was anyone other than him, she knew they wouldn't catch it. she says it so matter - of - factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. ❛ but that's not the whole truth either. i guess i struggle with my own humanity. whether i am worthy of it, i suppose. ❜ she stares at the sand beneath her feet and hums. she can't help but think back on the events of 2006. ❛ the truth is, i was ready to die back then. and i think i would have, if helping my family and the people i care about wasn't the current priority. it made me think about a few things. but especially about me. ❜

it used to be that her need to rise the ranks of the mafia was not about her growth, but her own punishment. she would take on impossible tasks or seek out some sort of suffering, so she can receive the punishment she feels she deserves. she used to push herself until she is at the brink of exhaustion. her father used to say this is proof of her hard work, but sometimes, and only sometimes, when she was by herself, it felt like she did it to watch herself crumble. this was what her life used to be like. and now that she no longer lives this way, she cannot seem to manage the emotions that come with it. if she is not punishing herself, what is she doing? it feels like a nightmare. she feels horrendous, harrowing, hideous even. it's not a landscape she knows, the constant shifting in the atmosphere so unsettling, the feelings she cannot name are both frightening and disturbing.

somewhere, she knows, there's a reason as to why she wants to do more, to be more, but right now she cannot fathom herself as more. ❛ it's selfish, you know. to have so much and yet feel so empty. i used to think it would change once i leave the mafia, but really, it's just me. ❜ she turns to him properly this time. ❛ but i don't want it to be this way. i know i can be better. ❜ a sigh. ❛ can i not? ❜

[shekofeh]

summer marks the dying of a child she once knew as akio. he will be remembered only as a faceless bully. the news do not mention him by full name, nor do they mention the true cause of his death; the circumstance of what led him there. despite herself, her blood begins to simmer. his face is the only coherent thought in shams' head, a gaping wound that won't stop bleeding. everything else is a blurry, dizzying mess: the sound of his cries and the way he stood. it won't leave her. it's in her mind and her memory. she tastes his death in the back of her throat, and the world sickeningly laughs at the decay. his blood is on her hands despite never having laid a finger on him— guilt by inaction, by looking away, by trust. the casual cruelty of it all is dehumanizing in its efficiency. and it will simply repeat itself until someone puts a stop to it. it should ignite something. fear. rage. the basic drive to react. no, all she feels is pure shame.

it's winter now. the trees have already changed shade from the vibrant greenery of summertime, their branches no longer full and weighty with the flourish, blossoms no longer bursting and coating the courtyard in soft pinks and whites: only in the outskirts of where she stands are the sweltering flowers, behind the train station thirty minutes over by foot, swaying its thousand eyes in the haze of what little remains of the heat, which is none.  the air smells of pinetrees and residual smoke. sunshine gone to rot.  she lets out a short breath, because she knows she's not alone. in front of her stands @zetsubocho and she cannot help but believe her terrible gut feeling. if what she thinks is true, then there's blood on both of them now, the same cursed line that binds them to this place, to this case. it occurs to her, with the bitter clarity of the already - damned, that if kuwana truly had something to do with his death, then he will be the last thing the memory of akio will offer her. and for once, she feels like she does not want to speak, or else a dam will break.

why're you here? you should know by now i'm not going to tell you anything.

kuwana's voice is flatly acknowledging. he must have tired of feeling her stare prickle at the side of his throat. must have sensed her the moment she stepped onto the field, waited patiently for her to make her presence known.  ❛ my bad. i'm pretty good at finding people. ❜ she tilts her head. silently questioning, coaxing his lips to part again. it's an old habit she has never really wanted to get rid of, knowing it becomes useful in her line of work. usually, with the teachings she's received in the mafia, she can find her way out of them without issue, but it's difficult not to linger, not to trace the imaginary walls with her fingertips (she can feel it when she closes her eyes; every room is empty. the silence stretches out beyond her, haunts a ghosting touch behind her ear). she hums. ❛ i'm not easily fooled, i'll have you know. i could stand here and devote my time in trying to understand your twisted sense of justice and how you seem to use it to rid yourself of the guilt you know stems from your inaction. i could speak about the justice you parade, as you hide behind the people you've put in harms way by using the one thing they could never forget. i could tell you how shameful it is. ❜

how shameful you are. but she won't. she's here for a different reason. ❛ you know something. something i'm very interested in. ❜ kuwana seems to be good at waiting. she's better, that's all. and truly, despite both of their conflicting natures, she doesn't need to wonder what kind of life it takes to become that kind of person, to be surprised when loathing begets loathing. she's lived it, hasn't she? how could a counter - attack ever be unaccounted for? that is a lovely way to think if this was not real life, but it is, and she knows this will change nothing. crimes will continue and people will grieve their loved ones. ❛ and i don't need to say it. you know what my question is. and you probably know the answer. ❜ a pause as she smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. ❛ i'll wait. i have all the time in the world, after all. ❜

[shekofeh]

there's a voice in her head, whispering the same thing over and over. when she stands in front of the kitchen sink, she imagines blood under her fingernails, blood staining her palms and oscillating down the drain. she keeps the tap on, trying to wipe what seems to be nothing off her hands first— catching her own reflection in the stainless steel of the sink fastened to the bathroom cupboard, dazed eyes staring into dazed eyes. she makes for a macabre image. a corpse that learned to breathe. to live. to love. she's grateful for it, really. she's grateful for how well the conversation had went, after she's been terrified of letting them know about her past. she'd expected the complete opposite of what they offered her today. instead of reassurance, she expected them to walk away, to tell her that they see right past the person she thinks she is, that no matter what she is still rotten in her core. no, they've done the opposite. just as she had hoped they would. and just as matsugane had told her they would.

so there’s nothing to complain about.  not the buzzing in her skull that still hasn’t subsided, not the mess inside her head, not the fact that ever since 2015, she can feel the mafia's eyes on her.  not the fact that she remembers them testing her loyalty towards them in such petty ways. it's been thirteen years, but she knows they still haven’t forgiven her for threatening the way of life that they all follow, that she used to follow, and they’re still making sure that when they do find her, all hell will break loose. and truly, that's not what had put her in this state. she's bold enough to admit that what seems to be haunting her now is the truth that resides in her chest. her loyalty back then had never been with any particular person. she was born and bred for this: the perfect secret weapon made for making things run more smoothly. if she is told to stand, she stands. if she is told to lie down, she lies down. if she is told to die, she dies. there has never been a choice in this matter. and she knew if she would have told them this back then, they'd use it against her, her father included, and they'd kill her for it. oh, and they will kill her for it. at least now, however, she can get the satisfaction of flaunting her capacity to choose in the faces of those rendered puppet masters by the organized crime world and that would be enough.

so why isn't it enough? will it ever be? it's like all her past does is haunt her. and on days like these, when her past looks more like bloodshed and terrible deeds than the people she misses, she know it's coming. days where the weight on her shoulders digs in more than usual, nights where she can’t lull the monsters in her head to appear content in front of the other, days where she seems to not know what to do with herself anymore. on days like these, her past always breaks in through the open window, like it's doing now, and slithers over her until she's falling backwards onto the ground, with its limbs dead and weightless around her.  she blinks, and it's there. smiling from behind the windowpane. she blinks, and it's got her laid out on a field of blood. and whatever seems to be looming above her seems to notice the vacancy in her expression. because everything stills. (there’s still blood under your fingernails, shams. a voice says. you didn’t bother to wash your hands properly, only let the water rinse away the worst of it.  tomorrow she'll just stain them again, so what’s the point?)

and no matter what, despite the anchor to her shipwreck, despite knowing that she no longer feels as guilty to lean onto yagami, despite everyone who had sticked from her old life noticing her wounds are starting to heal, despite everyone around her giving her a sense of peace, she cannot escape what once was. she cannot escape what has come. and what is yet to come.

sluggishly, she listens to the clock on her kitchen wall ticking. the lamp on the table is lit; shadows fall across the interior. a houseplant blooming in the corner, a painting she got from a mission overseas, paperbacks she's yet to read and doesn't know if she ever will. all things that should distract her, and yet they don't. what does, however, is this: shams. there is no reaction yet. hey, shams. it is then when a sigh leaves her lips and her eyes draw shut. she turns to find @zetsubocho looking at her. and again, it is anything but hateful. it is but what she expects him to express. understanding. it's a clear spark that she notices in his eyes. and yet, she does not know what to make of it. and finally, she speaks, her voice soft but full of fatigue: ❛ sorry. i kinda started thinking too much. ❜ she lets out a breath, sitting down in the spot she originally sat in on the couch, where she looks at his properly now. ❛ some host i am, huh? ❜ a pause. ❛ i haven't spoken about it in a few years. everything i told you guys, i mean. i was always used to the people who did know to have been during those events themselves that i don't really need to talk about it, but ever since i did i can't help but feel like ... something is wrong. ❜

she looks at the flowers on the table. even if it closes by the end of the day, it blooms again. every morning, you wake up, and there it is. those are words she has never forgotten ever since they've been spoken to her. since the minute kiryū had said them, she had carried them around as a way of life. she presses her lips together. ❛ i'm glad that you guys ae still here. it's true when i said i was worried that you'd no longer want me in your life, but there's another reason i wasn't sure about telling you. or anyone for that matter. ❜ and now that she's opened the lid, she has to make sure it doesn't spill incorrectly. ❛ i used to think that because i was no longer part of that world, and because i started a new page, that there is nothing that could pull me back to who i was. and now that you do know, and especially with what you personally know about me back then, i'm worried that you won't just see me as shams. that you'll start viewing me as the viper as well. that you'll notice things that aren't as visible when you don't really know about my history. ❜

she knows she's not making much sense, but perhaps he would understand. without needing to mention it, she knows the two of them share a lot of regret. that's a connection she can make without even asking. she worries that if she lets herself go, she'll start to shed her skin. and what will they think of her then? because really, hasn't her control always been about her lack of it? about her distrust in the person she is now? no matter how far she goes, she is still the same woman who faked her death, too struck with anger and grief to function properly. ❛ and when you do notice those things, what happens then? it's just ... i would like to stay just shams. you'll never get past it once you see me differently. ❜

[shekofeh]

afterglow isn’t all that far off from her apartment. it’s a short distance, really. which is where she's heading, work clothes and comfortable shoes on as she wallows in the mellow winter evening. everything is blue— the dark shade of the sky, especially. the blazer she threw on is a rich cobalt. a pleasant breeze caresses her skin, brushing against the apple of her cheek and she watches as blossoms dance in a faraway spot. sounds cling to every tree in sight, buzzing a pleasant tune. it’s been raining for a couple of days; she can still smell it in the air, feel it in the low tinge of wind clinging to her skin. eager to scratch a certain itch in her brain, she enters the bar and instantly lights up and heads over to where @zetsubocho was working. she's been coming here frequently. what little free time she had between work and the aftermath of recent events was spent walking around the town. sometimes it was nice to wind down and appreciate the air in here. sitting down, she hums. ❛ you will not believe the day i've had. ❜

why don’t you sit, and i’ll pour tea?

❛ oh, my hero. ❜ she dramatically places her hand on top of the left side of her chest and smiles. ❛ i could really use some tea. ❜ truthfully, she was grateful for the simplicity of this routine. brewing tea was something she knew like the back of her hand, but watching her do it was easy and peaceful like breathing. fujiko strained the herbs as she poured it into a ceramic cup and placed it in front of her. despite this, she feels herself tilt her head to the side and go further into her thoughts. and she knows the other notices. maybe it was the fact she knew she had barely touched her tea as she set it down, an act that is unusual of her. whatever it was, she feels her stare and lets out a breath. ❛ i'm just thinking. about that trip i wanted to take. ❜ the one she dreaded the most. she shakes her head, then. ❛ i had hoped i wouldn't have to drag anyone in this, but i do hope to keep it a secret. just for a while. ❜ and at that, she gets ready for what she expects to be a conversation she'd rather avoid all together: the tendency to carry everything by herself, refusing to let others take some of the weight that is clearly too heavy for her.

shams has never been very good at asking for help, not because she doesn't want to, but rather, because she doesn't know if she is fully able to. it's noticeable in the way she asks about someone else's background when they try to ask for hers, smoothly redirecting the conversation. how she'd stiffen briefly when someone opened the door for her. to the naked eye, that’s good behavior. standard politeness.  give and get.  but she knows better. because as much as she was trying to hide it, cover it up with a smile and a laugh, her expressions back then hide a different meaning. as if they were only the subtleties of discomfort. as if all she can do is give and give, and if she were to ask for anything in return, she would be haunted by the ghost of the fear she used to carry when she was in the mafia. she doesn't like it when the spotlight stays on her for too long because of this, and she doesn't like accepting help without giving something back. she knew which part of her past had caused this, but it is true that it isn't helping anyone when she acts this way. and it is why she can't seem to explain, because that is another scar that needed to open.

some day, she'll air out her restless ribcage.  uncap the lid, dust off the longing, let every word she'd like to say slip right out. today,  however— she will lie with a beating heart, and shaky fingers and pretend she doesn't mind. pretend there's not a history of violence she cannot seem to get past that makes her terrified of this change. ❛ i know what you're thinking. it's not like i'm not asking for help on purpose. ❜ she places her head on top of the counter. ❛ it's not easy for me. i'm just not used to it. i don't know if i can get used to it. that's the only reason. ❜

[shekofeh]

ever since she had reached sotenbori, shams feels a cold wash over her bone - marrow. it’s a warm evening in april and she's standing where she's supposed to be meeting @zetsubocho. it's been five years since she's last seen them. actually seen them; she'd hear stories about the various problems they've gotten themselves into since 2015, but to meet them now is a completely different matter. she thinks that must be why she can't focus properly. she'll admit, she feels anxiety squirm in the black of her pupils, lips parting around a sound that doesn’t make it out of her. she closes her mouth again. there's no point of talking to herself anyway, but the truth remains the same. she worries that she'd disappoint them, no matter how stupid that sounds. it's been such a long time since she had left the same world they used to live in, always worrying that she's drifting away from them, always terrified that she can't be a part of them anymore, but she'll admit that she feels a different force lead her towards them.

towards daigo who is both her mirror and her opposite, to majima who is so much like her in the same way she is like him, and saejima who has always reminded her of the good in brutal days. and kiryū, who she might not see again any time soon, but that had never stopped him from appearing like the guiding light from her past. she could still feel it until just a moment ago, like a warm blanket over her head, settling nicely in the space around her. the actualization of what she calls her own luck:  her ability to sense where luck will strike and turn it into an action. she's learned how to utilize it properly over the years so it works best when applied to her everywhere life. it's often difficult to explain this process to others, but it doesn't mean it makes any less sense to her. and it should make sense to her. except it doesn't. there are many components to “luck”. for her, lies in reading them. but when it's tested in a situation like this,  recklessly, desperately, towards the emotions she hasn't properly processed yet— she isn't surprised when she feels so exhausted.

or maybe it's the long train ride finally showing signs of weariness, but who knows at this point? shams knows this kind of feeling: the kind she gets lost in. her mind slowly broken down, lulled into dream - like passivity, the image of an intensity found wide - eyed and untouched days later. of course, she tunes the thought out as soon as she sees saejima, fully excited by the image of him in front of her. the smile on her face, something that eases the tension in her body, was a breath of fresh air. it's not until she properly sees him that she wills her legs to work and close the distance to give him a quick hug. ❛ i was wondering which one of you was gonna come. ❜ she lets out a sigh, more exhausted than anything. she wrings her hands together. inner palm cupping the small of her wrist. ❛ man, i forgot how long the ride from tokyo is. ❜ the last time she's actually visited was when she was still studying in kyoto, all the way back in 2006. she tilts her head, then, warm smile on her lips as they begin to walk. ❛ so, how have you guys been? staying out of trouble, i hope. ❜

[azabchi]

she feels wrung dry. it's a realization that hits her as she stands next to @zetsubocho in front of the open fridge. with decisive momentum, she turns towards the familiar row of cartons that she usually chooses from. her fingers hover in front of the options, ultimately settling on a carton of strawberry milk. sickly - sweet, exactly how she likes it. she shuffles through her pocket, bringing out a handful of coins and starts moving towards the till. before she is able to place them on the counter, she sees kaito's hand move forward to pay instead. it shouldn't really surprise her, but these days everything does. still, she manages a weak smile and speaks as they both step out of the shop. ❛ ... thanks. ❜

she looks up, then. the sky is a murky shade: somewhere in between silver and indigo, fat streaks of gray smeared across the muddied canvas. the wind blows quietly around her. almost like someone is trying to gently calm her down. she shakes her head, though, and decides to sit somewhere close, kōkan initatives in front of them. she's cross - legged, hair swaying, sipping slowly from the straw. she knows it doesn’t even look like her throat is moving. because it's not. the way the wind moves reminds her of the tree she used to sit in front of before she started working here. only it isn’t spring yet and once white blossoms have turned into dark leaves. one of them breaks away and lands squarely on the sole of suzuyo's shoe. stays a while, then flutters away dejectedly. how fitting.

she knows he's waiting for her speak. it's been a little easier with kaito around, she'll admit. the hole in her chest seems to contract every time he comes to visit to check up on her. she's still pretty pissed at yagami, but she figures if she's one step closer to say something, it would be now. it would be because of his little visits. and then: ❛ rotten mikan. ❜ at this, she notices she catches his attention. and then she just repeats herself. ❛ rotten mikan ... rotten cabbage ... rotten sweet potatoes … nothing i come up with sounds fitting anymore. ❜ she sighs, the sound coming out strained, as if poured through a polluted filter. ❛  i mean, you can use rotten fruit as fertilizer. plant trees. harvest. whatever. there’s use for it. when it's people are rotten to the core ... ❜ a pause. the ghost of a smile, leading nowhere. ❛  what am i supposed to call them? ❜

in other words, there are no words to explain what she means. what she feels. she's not sure where to place everything she's thinking. she can barely say her name without spiraling into something she knows she won't get out of. the carton of strawberry milk is placed at her feet, knocked over by the wind almost immediately. giving out soft thuds as it lands one, two, three steps away. she inhales. it's flimsy, like she isn’t actively seeking air. exhaling like it’s a chore to. she thinks of rotten fruit that doesn’t fall. rotten fruit that molds, decays, yet never snaps off the branch it’s weighing down. it's useless. one can't even water the roots. she looks away from him, at her shoes, at the tree, at the street, anywhere away from him, unable to face him. ❛  i'm so angry. i didn't think i still would be. ❜

[shekofeh]

time passes with a speed that’s almost frightening.  the old shams disappears, almost entirely faded, leaving only a new person in her wake. a new person, an entirely different human being— over ten years of living in an echo chamber, ten years of forming her personality in the shape of something twisted. she remembers words she’s swallowed down like curses all her life that kept flooding her subconscious, building up inside the back of her throat, spinning and spinning and spinning inside her brain until she used to feel sick enough to throw up. protection. responsibility. duty. in simple words, she just kept watching, hoping for an answer that’ll save her just enough. waiting and watching. and that is exactly what happened. the answer come in the image of four people. that is when it all changed. and it seems, somehow, that she is content with how things are going. she has conviction, and that’s what she mainly needs. she has a goal and people she cares for, to pursue that goal for. breathing feels a lot easier. living feels a lot easier. 

except for the fact that she now has to let go of the very thing that had first gotten her where she is now. to let go of majima, of saejima, of kiryū. and most importantly, of daigo. daigo, who had been the first friend she could remember. it's terrible enough to think about. she's known them for her entire life now, the center of her world, really.

shams was born with a bleeding heart, after all, an empathy unusually developed for her age. always pushing her forward, coaxing her into taking action; this nagging desire to protect. born with an inability to avert her gaze from the suffering of others. quite the quality in the world she was raised in, but she knew the moment she locked eyes with him when they were much younger, that it meant something when she managed a smile, even though deep down she’s alarmed. it's why the two of them had grown so much closer, in the same way flowers who share a stem learn to lean on each other, grow in the same direction: a mess of mingled roots. a natural connection, blooming out of nothing more than a genuine coincidence. and that is why, as she listens to him speak, all she can hear is the imaginary whooshing of the sea. it's only one beach she can picture in her head, really, but it's as if she's being pulled underwater, a heavy weight tugging at her limbs, lungs gasping for air that doesn't exist. pure static, in her ears, a sharp crack of something. like a rib or a train of thought. all she can taste is saltwater.

she knows the dam begins to break. it cracks at the edges, like two giddy children poking a stick into a puddle layered with ice, giggling at their scattered reflections. memories resurfacing, images flashing in her subconscious. shams looks at daigo like she’s lost. something inside of her breaks, disintegrates into a pile of despair.  but she's still smiling at him, the same way she did during their first meeting, so very gentle. so accepting of what he's saying, so all - encompassing of why he says so. just like always.  it's why all she says the next words. ❛ i don't really know what to say. ❜ and it's those words that begin to rot inside her mouth, like wilted flowers, too nauseating. this is wrong, she thinks. everything is all wrong. everything is wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.

❛ will you rest easier with one less mystery on your mind? ❜ @zetsubocho says then, which only causes her to raise her eyebrow at him. she'd laugh if it were any other scenario. the words that spill so very easily from his lips break her. she can’t tell if he's somehow mended the damage with this one question, or only worsened it. she can’t tell where the jagged hole inside her chest ends and begins. she can only tell that it’s extending and extending.

❛ when it comes to you? never. ❜ in other words that remain unspoken: i'll always worry about you. the two of them are different, she realizes, all at once. some part of her always knew. she was born to be happy, in their eyes, at least, kept away from the bloodshed, hands that should be unsullied by the deep red that always dries beneath her fingernails. and she’s glad that it might be true, but not if he's not around. shams falters. these days, that’s all she ever seems to do. ❛ do you really think this will change much? if you're no longer in my life, that is? ❜ it will only make things worse, she thinks. her head shakes, then. she understands where they're all coming from, but now is the worst time they could've possibly picked. while she had a long conversation with majima about it, where she had the chance to say goodbye to him, she won't get the chance to do so with kiryū and saejima. the next words she speaks open a door she knows won't close any time soon, in a quiet voice, a whisper, as if trying to squeeze some sincerity from her own chest, a last attempt at reaching him. ❛ i'm barely holding on as it is. and you want me to accept you disappearing from my life? ❜

she lets out a sigh, then. ❛ i know you're probably right. i just didn't expect it to happen so soon. ❜ she feels so stupid. she's sure that the road ahead will be a long one, full of obstacles and thorns. but that’s fine. she'lll deal with it when the time comes. maybe she always sort of assumed things would end like this; that they'd walk ahead without her, with all the different lives they seem to be living now. shams has no longer belonged to their world, and they would do anything to make sure she stays out of it. it seems that this is the anything. her head tilts softly. ❛ come and walk with me, at least. for old time's sake. ❜ for the very last time.