revving to life.

But as the gate opened to the scene of Jun crumpled on the ground, we heard his voice, hollow and defeated.

“Mou ii,” he said. That’s enough.

“But—” Ikeda said.

“It’s enough!” he yelled. “He’ll come back when he sees his mistake.”

I stared at him, but Tomohiro grabbed my wrist and started running, and my eyes fell off the shape of Jun, off the wings that were pooling into puddles of ink below him like thick black tears. We ran until the tunnels of the underground walkway swallowed us up, until we stumbled through the glaring lights of the empty train station, where our footsteps echoed in the silence.

We ran until tears streamed down my face, blurring the streetlights as we walked toward Diane’s mansion.

Chapter 17

We rode up the elevator in silence, and my hands shook as I fumbled to turn the key in the door. Tomohiro locked it behind us, the slide of the bolt flooding me with relief. We stood there in the genkan staring at each other, streaked in ink, dirt and dried blood.

I wanted to reach out for him, but I was scared I would burst into tears if he touched me. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing, so we just stood there like idiots for a while.

Then he pulled out his keitai, the little kendo warrior swinging back and forth on his phone strap.

“I’m going to call Kenritsu,” he said, flipping the phone open.

“Okay,” I said. His cell phone beeped as he typed in the hiragana, searching online for the hospital number. I wondered if he wanted to be alone when he called, so I slowly backed toward the bathroom. I left the door ajar and heard his smooth voice after a pause.

“Moshi mosh? Yuu Tomohiro desu ga,” he said. I wondered how he could sound so calm, like nothing had happened.

I turned on the tap and let the water splash onto my hands while I stared into the sink and listened to Tomohiro. I’m connected to the Kami. The ink is somehow trapped inside me. I looked in the mirror, studying the lines of dirt caked on my skin. I looked like crap. I had to wash my face twice to get all the dirt off.

I heard Tomohiro’s phone slam shut, heard him curse under his breath. As I dabbed my face on the towel, he pushed the bathroom door open a little.

“They won’t give me any info because I’m not family,”

he said. “They probably think I’m one of the Yakuza trying to find him.”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” I said.

Tomohiro stared at me as I hung the towel back on the ring.

“Um,” I said. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said, but his stare was so intense that the back of my neck felt prickly.

He reached his hand up to my cheek but stopped short of touching me when he saw the ink caked on his hands.

“I—” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I almost got us—”

“You didn’t,” I said. “They did.” He stood there staring into space, so I turned on the water for him and stepped out of the way.

He washed his hands, the dark ink spiraling down into the drain.

“I’m going to get some tea,” I said.

“Okay.”

I padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, grabbing the bottle of black-bean tea and pouring it into two glasses. Tomohiro turned off the water and met me in the kitchen, his face and hands scrubbed pink. He took the glass with both hands but didn’t drink. Just kept staring.

So I said quietly, “Don’t draw anymore, Tomo.”

His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

“I know, but—”

“I mean I can’t,” he said. “What Takahashi said about the dreams, the whispers…it’s all true. I don’t even need to draw anymore. The ink just uses me as its canvas.” He held out his arms, striped with pale ink stains.

“But…”

“It’s going to keep hunting me, until I give in or it destroys me.”

I felt hollow, like all my Japanese had spilled onto the floor and I couldn’t understand anything anymore.

“Tomo.”

He walked slowly to Diane’s ugly couch and pressed his back into the purple leather. He lowered his head and his bangs fanned over his eyes. The chill of the tea glass pressed against my fingers.

“I don’t know how to fight it,” he said. “How do you win when you’re up against yourself?”

I thought for a minute. “I don’t know,” I said. “But if there are so many Kami, there must be a way. It’s not like you see people’s chemistry notes exploding all the time.”

I hoped he’d smirk, but at this angle I couldn’t see his face.

His fingers gripped the glass tightly as it rested on his lap. I sat down beside him, placing my glass on the coffee table. I wrapped my fingers around his glass, pried it out of his fingers and placed it on the table beside mine. His hands free, Tomohiro buried his head in them.

“I’m a monster,” he said. “I have to go somewhere.”

“What? Where?”

“Somewhere I won’t hurt you. Somewhere I won’t hurt anyone.”

“Look, don’t listen to those idiots. If they’re all Kami and living in Shizuoka, and we didn’t know… I mean, he’s probably just trying to scare you into joining them. There’s no way Jun has enough power to take on the Yakuza or restore the Kami as rulers of Japan, or whatever crap he was spouting.”

“How do I know?” Tomohiro said. “How do I know you’ll be safe?”

And then I suddenly realized how his leg was pressed against mine, the heat of it through his jeans. The shame came flooding back to me, the anger with it.

“Tomo,” I said. “It was an act, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“I mean the—” I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

“The love hotel.”

Silence.

“Damn it. Say something!”

He lifted his head slowly, exhaustion in his eyes. It wasn’t much longer until the sun would rise.

“I told you to stay away from me,” he said, but his eyes gleamed as he stared at me.

There was no smirk, like there had been for Myu. There was no slouching, no look of disgust. No lies.

He reached his hand up and tucked my hair behind my ear with tenderness. “Gomen,” he apologized, his soft voice almost beyond hearing. I bit my lip as hot tears rushed to my eyes. I blinked them back; no way in hell was I going to cry now. He started to lean in, and I pushed him back, my palms smacking his chest.

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