Ami - Year Eighteen

     He looked like one of the three had looked.
     Of course the three were dead; she’d made sure of it a while back, and so this of course was not one of them, and he was younger, besides. Ami’s eyes were upon him.
     He was a human; she could tell by the frailty in his gait, the innocence in his smell. From behind he was not intimidating, and so from behind she approached him; taller than her, of course – jet black hair radiating color with the rainbow of Tokyo nightlights; the way his ears were perked sort of out from his head, the way his hands swung when he walked; that reminded her of the one of the three. She blinked. Perhaps that was why she’d noticed him in the first place. The resemblance made her jaw tight, her pulse quick, something like fear and not like fear flowing like fire inside. So it would be.
     She fell into step beside him, though the sidewalk offered other places for her to be other than his side. The girl noticed him notice her, and she did not look at his face. And he gave a “Hello,” that sounded more like a question than a greeting.
     Ami still did not look at his face, but the pavement before them, the heels of the men and woman going from work to home in the bustling Japanese twilight. Phlegm was thick in her throat, and she tugged on the scarf around her neck. “Let me earn money,” she murmured, only now turning her face upward to meet the surprised expression of the young man. He blinked his dark eyes a few times as he looked down at her, puzzlement crooking the eyebrows beneath his messy hair. “Pardon me?” Ami heard him say; she’d looked away again, expression stoic, hands flat in her empty pockets.
     She gave a pointed look to the apex of his jeans, before returning her eyes to his face. “I would like to earn credits from you.”
      Then the girl found herself somewhat confused; there was a look of amusement on his face, as though she’d told a joke. She’d said nothing funny. She was quite serious. She stared at him as he spoke. “Oh wow, but what are you? Twelve?” An uneasy laugh.
     “Eighteen.”
     “Oh…”
     Ami was not sure as to how these proceedings were supposed to look, but the conversation thus far did not seem as though it was going anywhere. Perhaps she ought to have found someone very intoxicated, or perhaps a more lecherous-looking person; this boy seemed to be a non-factor, despite his familiar appearance.
     His pace had slowed down, however, and Ami slowed in turn. He was giving her an appraising look. “But whatever. How much?” He gave her a smile; an expression that looked as though it did not belong in the situation.
     Ami gathered that it was the price he spoke of. She blinked, shoulders straightening as she told him.
     “Holy crap, girl, I’m a college student.”
     Ami stared at him. “I need a plane ticket.” Her expression was unflinching on his uneasy eyes. He wouldn’t do it, then. She guessed that it was relief she was feeling right now, but she ought not be feeling relief, for now she knew that she would not acquire credits from this human. Very disappointing.
     She was turning away when the young man caught her by the shoulder. She stiffened, before the hand was gone and the human was speaking. “But, uh, hey…” he edged. What was that sound in his voice, she wondered. “You – you can come over to my place, though.”
     Ami turned around.
     “I mean, not in a creepy way, but something tells me you don’t live anyplace, and uh…” He was half-turned away now, as though discomfited by his own compulsive words, or Ami’s stare.
     “Why would you care,” the girl inquired when he did not continue speak.
     His eyes flashed, as though the question was strange to him. An uneasy chuckle. “Well, excuse me for being worried about a little girl running around propositioning random people.” He ran a hand through his messy raven hair, looking down at her as though she suddenly appeared very strange. “Besides, being a girl all alone in downtown Tokyo isn’t all that safe at night. Where are you even from?”
     “Downtown Tokyo.”
     He laughed. “Well, still… come on to my dorm tonight. I got a little sister; I wouldn’t want her wandering around alone at night, anyhow; and you can feel free to leave whenever.”
     Ami looked up at him, the curiosity and suspicion she felt not visible in her expression, though they were rife in her veins now. “Thank you, but… I will not,” she answered after a thoughtful moment.
     “Seriously?” And he proceeded to sound like a salesman from radio advertisements. “No food? No hot bath? I mean, if you want a plane ticket, you probably need those things, too.” He scratched his nose; Ami knew she did not smell good, he didn’t need to hint. “And my dorm gets endless hot water, so it works out great.”
     The girl stared at him.
     “I mean, no offense,” a laugh. “But seriously, you’d sooner take money for doing ‘favors’ for random dudes than let yourself sleep on someone’s couch for a night? That logic seems flawed.”
     Ami’s face flooded with heat. She was disinclined to acknowledge that he was right, but knew that there was some unpleasant truth in his words. Her eyes were stolid and unmoving on his.
     He was continuing to talk; “And anyway, aren’t you worried about ghouls? I don’t know how you’ve been able to avoid them if you’ve been living around here.”
     “I don’t avoid them.”
     He gave her a look, one eye squinting, before shaking his head. “Sure, well, come on,” and he took a step to start walking again, shouldering his book-bag before looking back at her. “What’s your name?”
     There was no reason not to disclose it. “Ueda Ami.”
     “Alright, Ueda-san,” he bowed a little, as Ami watched with unmoving expression. There was a pause; then, “My name is Nakano Hinata, if you’re interested.”
     She wasn’t, but did not figure that it would be very polite to say so, and so she did not. If he was truly intending to act kindly to her, she ought not say things that might hurt his feelings.
     “Are you coming?”
     Ami took a step forward.
     “That’s right, lift your feet one after the other…” Hinata cooed, and this unnecessary explanation of walking irritated her; she ceased her already disinclined advance.
     “Come on, don’t just stare. I was kidding,” he laughed.
     Well. Perhaps there was no harm in it. She could see what the place was like. Perhaps feel a little heat from a warmed room for a few minutes, at least; it smelled like it might rain outside, in any case. Her eyes rose to his patiently receding form. And it was not as though this human was a Dove; he was just a boy, and could be easily neutralized if he proved a threat after all.
     So she followed.
     “Not very talkative, are you?”
     The girl shook her head.
     “That’s okay. I bet I can talk enough for the both of us.”
     Ami would have preferred to walk in silence, but didn’t say as much.
     “What do you need a plane ticket for? Going to visit some family in Hokkaido? The new year’s coming up.”
     Already he was making good on his bet. Ami blinked and shook her head in reply.
     “Going to visit a tropical resort, then?” He sounded like he was trying to be funny. Ami shook her head again.
     “Then you must be a secret agent or something, going off to do a mission or whatever –” and he waved a hand; “if you told me, you’d have to kill me, and all that.”
     Ami was surprised to find she’d almost smiled. She nodded.
     “Ah, so the truth comes out…” and Nakano-san continued the conversation as promised, until they reached a campus, the college, and he had to shut up for the curfew silence – which Ami was fine with.
     None of his roommates were there. “Left a day early to get home for the holidays,” he’d said, dropping his book-bag by the door. Ami looked around the small flat, as Hinata turned on the lights. The place smelled strongly of boy. “Sorry it’s such a mess. They left me to clean everything and I didn’t know I’d have a guess,” he laughed, shrugging a little.
     “It is alright,” Ami replied absently, rubbing her arms in the warmth of the room. The scent was that of a well-lived-in place; like her clothes, only there was no blood-smell. Her dim eyes flitted over the walls, carpet, doors, closets, remembering what it was like to be in a home.
     Hinata had kicked off his shoes at the door, replacing them on his feet with slippers; Ami withdrew to the wall and followed suit to remover her travel-worn boots. She hadn’t taken off her shoes in a while. Her socks were paper-thin and yellowed. She fingered them dispassionately before looking up to see Hinata tossing about the room, kicking piles of things into corners and stacking books and papers away, covering some things with blankets.
     Three futons took over most of the floor space; then there was a kitchen-nook and a small sofa, which appeared to double as a coat-rack and triple as a laundry hamper.
     “Yeah, it’s a mess…” Hinata said as he bundled up the garments on the couch and tossed it next to the closet.
     Ami’s father had been cleaner, but this place wasn’t so very different; only he’d had many laptops and computers and file-cabinets; and then her face heated; of course, this wasn’t father. The girl studied him sidelong as he bustled around. He’d clicked on an electric kettle that was starting to come to a boil. Tea, perhaps. She would have to start coming up with a reason to refuse it.
     His face was a little too expressionless, it seemed, as if he was perhaps embarrassed, or hiding a smile. She began to wonder why he would invite her here if he was not perfectly comfortable with it.
     She would not like to think… she would not like to think it had anything to do with her earlier proposition.
     “Shower’s in the bathroom, that door right there,” he said, breaking her reverie, indicating the room behind her with his thumb. “I mean, if you want to wash up,” he added dubiously, glancing at her dirty clothing. Ami looked at him. “I can have a bowl of udon ready as soon as you’re out, assuming you’re hungry.”
     Assuming you’re homeless.
     An accurate assumption, Ami supposed.
     She bowed a little, face unreadable. “I will… use the shower. Thank you.”
     But before she could so much as step inside, Nakano-san leaped past her with a, “Oh, let me make sure it’s clean!”
     When he was done, he handed her a towel; “This one’s yours.” Ami looked at it. “And endless hot water, so take your time,” and he waved out the door before shutting her in.
     Ami stood quietly for a moment, before clicking the lock, and turning to face the room. It was small, with a toilet, a sink, and a shower. Discarded laundry was shoved into a corner, and there were tooth brushes and sticks of deodorant and other hygienic things on all the open surfaces. It smelled like a bathroom, and there were little hairs on the ground and stubble in the sink. She blinked around; she was not overly eager to unclothe herself in this place.
     She heard movement from the other room, and scratched her nose. It was a shame there was no window here. She would have rather liked to abscond. Nakano-san seemed kind, but so did a lot of other people she did not like, and she did not need to be here very much anyway.
     Still; she’d found she’d already shucked her outer coat, and the door was locked, after all – and there was running water too, so perhaps there would be no harm done.
     After fifteen slow minutes, one jacket, two hoodies, a tee-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of leggings were in a pile on the old tile by the shower. Ami stood in her underclothes, a tank-top stained with the blood of her kills, and the training bra hardly peeking from beneath, and a pair of worn-out Hanes. She looked at herself in the mirror, and rather regretted having done so. She wore a small frown, though she’d not been aware that she’d even been making the expression, and on the dirt above it was a pair of dark, inflectionless eyes. She touched her face; this is what people saw. She tugged absently at her tangled black hair. Some prostitute. It had been no wonder Nakano-san had thought her funny.
     She looked down at herself. Did she smell like all the nights spent in old sweat? Like wetting herself? Like the bleeding inside?
     There were no matches in the room; she regretfully concluded that she could not burn the clothes.
     A sound at the door, knocking. “Everything okay in there?”
     Ami jumped a little, nodding, before she remembered he could not see her. “Y-yes.” Her eyes went to the lock on the doorknob.
     “Alright, food’s ready when you are.”
     “Th-thank you.”
     And Ami didn’t move until she heard him walk away from the door.
     The blood was still there, swirling up from the dehydrated yellow, when she’d garnered the courage to crouch over the toilet. It was not her moon cycle. It was just the blood. She held herself as she tiptoed to the shower, the ache of metallic ever-presence prodding bone.
     Of course, she’d gotten well past crying about it, now.
     Her eyes went to the door again, as she cautiously emerged from the rest of her clothing, to step into the glass enclosure of the shower. What was she doing, bathing in the home of a stranger - complete madness, but she was doing it. As she huddled in the cool chamber, she felt the comforting presence of her kagune lacing against her spine. Nakano-san was only a human. He was not – he was not one of the three. Even though there had been three futons on the floor, it was not the three – she was safe, or safe as she could be, so why not use the shower.
     If she could remember how. She stared at the mechanics: two knobs, a faucet, and showerhead. Which knob was which? Which way was on? She cautiously touched the mildewed apparatus with a finger, and tried to remember the times with father.
     She managed to turn it on without breaking off any of the valves, though at first she was blasted with freezing water – and then after wrestling with the other knob, she was assaulted with hot – she eventually got it to a tolerable, even comfortable temperature, but had to reassure Nakano-san that she was alright when he came to the door again to see about the noise.
      It was an alien feeling, to have skin that squeaked with cleanliness against her fingers, and remember that there was smoothness beneath the layers of dirt that came away from her hair. She found a bar of soap – found she was brave enough to touch it, and watched as suds and brownish water drained away between her feet. Clean, clean… She’d forgotten what it felt like. The last time she’d visited a homeless shelter had been what must have been a year ago, before the Doves started looking for her. That was her last shower; since then, it’d always just been rain. She rubbed her palms into her eyes, breathing in the steam. This was – this was – she was glad that she’d not left. She was glad to be in here, now. It felt good, so good…
     When she looked down, she saw a plip of blood mingling with the runoff. And she remembered the ache. She blinked. And then she promptly finished washing her hair and turned the water off.
     The towel was big and not un-soft. She used it, shivering in the open air. Her hair was too long to dry; she knew from weathering squalls that it would take at least a few hours to dry completely, and so she wasn’t surprised when it soaked through her clothing when she put it all back on. It was a shame looking at her clothes, that they didn’t smell as clean as the rest of her, but at least her face was observably clean when she looked in the mirror again, fully clothed. She would have to thank him again for letting her use the shower.
     Ami peaked her head out the door. But before she could so much as tentatively open her mouth to announce her presence, Nakano-san had turned his face to her, from where he’d been sitting with a binder and papers, and exclaimed something about having put her old clothes back on. “You can’t do that now that you’re all clean!”
     She stared at him, taken aback by his objection. He was already up and digging his hands through his closet. “Honestly, you’re such a weird kid – let that stuff go to the laundry tomorrow or something,” Nakano-san said, coming up to her with a bundle of clothes. And then he appeared to blush. “I don’t think this’ll all fit very well but it’s better than dirty stuff. Just leave your clothes in a pile or something with everything else.”
     And, unable to form the words to reply, Ami bowed back into the bathroom, new clothes in tow. The socks were too big, and he’d given her boxers – and she had to roll up the pajama-pants, and was practically swimming in the sweater – but the clothes didn’t have a bad smell or feel like her old things. She wadded toilet paper in the underwear and kept her training bra on before she was satisfied with her appearance – but before she stepped out, she stuffed all of her old clothes together, bloody tank-top the innermost bundle, so that it could never see the light of day – she didn’t intend for him to do her laundry, at all.
     So she cautiously stepped out of the door again, hoping she would not be accosted once more. Belatedly, it occurred to her that it was possible that the reason he’d wanted her so clean was that she might serve him for money less uncomfortably, but that was a belated thought, and so she had no time to leap back into the bathroom before he’d noticed her come out.
      “Udon’s ready,” he said, with an awkward sort of smile; she supposed he might have thought the fact she was wearing men’s clothing a few sizes too big for her amusing. He held up a bowl that was apparently hers.
      Ami’s stomach stirred sickly. She – she hadn’t come up with a reason to excuse herself from any meal, yet. Quietly, she shuffled over to where he was sitting on the couch, and sat on a clear spot on the carpet adjacent, not meeting his eyes as she accepted the bowl. It was the instant add-hot-water stuff, the bowl some sort of plastic. He handed her some chopsticks. She’d lived in Japan all her life, and she’d never really used chopsticks. What she ate didn’t really allow for chopsticks. She held them awkwardly in her hand, eyes drifting back up to Nakano-san, who seemed to be eating well enough.
      “Don’t like spicy food?” he asked, noticing her hesitance.
      Ami hadn’t noticed the type of udon it was, but the label did read spicy, so she nodded. “I’ll be fine with water,” she muttered, hopeful that he’d relent in trying to feed her. She ate a week ago, and didn’t even want to pretend to try to put down this human food.
      But she didn’t like to think that it was suspicion that flickered across Hinata’s face just then – and so reflexively Ami wasted no more time in tipping the bowl to her mouth and sucking down broth. She winced – it was hot and tasted greasy – she hoped he didn’t notice the way she shut her eyes around drinking it. Without any more ado, she was pinching noodles between the two sticks and getting those down, too.
     “Eh, I knew you were hungry,” Nakano-san said, smugness in his voice, as he placed his own bowl on the couch and went to the sink. “And you don’t have to sit on the floor,” he added as he filled up a glass of water.
     “I like to…” Ami replied softly, through a taut throat – feeling the food burning down. Fortunately the past few years swallowing rancid-tasting ghoul-flesh had hardened her resolve to eating things she didn’t like – but she’d get sick from this eventually. She put the bowl aside, only half finished, before readily accepting a cup from Hinata. She chugged down the water, feeling the gagging-sensation loosen to a tolerable nausea as the food passed. The girl rubbed her eye as she set down the cup. “Thank you,” she managed.
     “Of course,” he said, plopping back on the couch. Ami fell back into silence, neither eating nor moving, and he spoke again. He seemed to like to do it to make sure silences never got too awkward. “So, Ueda-san… do you really need a plane ticket? You – don’t have to tell me why, or anything.”
     Ami blinked at the unexpected renewal of the topic. She nodded.
     Hinata pouted a little. “You don’t have a job or anything.”
     The girl let a stare speak for her.
     “That really sucks. Are you – are you… trying to get away from someone?”
     Ami shrugged. She supposed so. A couple someones. The CCG.
     “Are you… being stalked or what?” He suddenly looked so serious.
     Ami didn’t answer.
     Hinata sighed, and ruffled his hair with a hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. You just – it’s just weird, you’re so quiet. How – how old did you say you were again?”
     Ami didn’t have enough fingers to show him, so she just said, “Eighteen.”
     “How long have you lived on the streets?”
     She’d never told him that she lived on the streets, but it was just as well that he guessed. “A few years…” It irked her that this was beginning to have the feel of an intervention. “Why are you wondering.”
     He put up his hands defensively, “Relax, I’m just wondering; I gotta make conversation somehow,” he laughed again, but then his expression hardened. He set down his noodles and slowly slipped off the sofa to sit by her, as she stiffened. “You’ve probably seen a lot of trouble…”
      She looked at him, impassive.
      There was a strange look in his eyes, before he shook his head, brushing through his hair again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry or anything. My friends always call me a philosopher. Or a therapist, too I guess.” He chuckled, before adding, “None of those are my major.”
     He was everywhere with conversations. Ami didn’t follow, and didn’t know how to reply, so she didn’t. She took the time to turn so that she was not facing him, back to the couch, rubbing the fabric of the sweater absently in a hand. It smelled of cologne. She pressed a finger to her lips, trying to think of that smell, and not of what she’d just made herself eat.
     When she glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye, remembering she was not alone, she realized he was watching her. She promptly looked away again.
     “I bet you have an interesting story.”
     Ami shrugged, and there was another long silence. Her eyes searched for a clock on the wall.
     “Well, I guess it’s getting late,” Hinata sighed, though he didn’t sound tired. He stood, and Ami watched him blankly as he looked down at her. There was a sort of smile on his face. “I don’t suppose,” he said, voice sounding wry, “You want any saké or anything?” He wiggled his eyebrows, playing half-heartedly at mischief. “Turned twenty last month, so I could getcha hooked up.”
      The girl looked stupidly up at him, not blinking.
      “Haha, I figured as much…” Nakano-san said; he bent over to pick up his bowl and hers. “You going to have any more?” he asked, before taking it away.
     She shook her head, and was glad to see him take it away and put them in the garbage. She heard the sound of a microwave.
     When he returned, he was holding a little cup, steaming; she smelled fermented rice, and looked away. He didn’t renew the offer to her, drinking it himself, wincing as he returned his gaze to her. “See what you made me do?” he laughed. “You make me feel like I’m walking on coals.”
      “I – I’m sorry,” Ami said, blinking. She didn’t know what he meant.
      He fell back onto the couch, and Ami didn’t watch him further. Her hand was on her turning stomach, as she looked at her knees.
    “Wanna sit on the couch?”
    “No…”
    Ami felt a lock of wet hair, tugging it as her eyes lost focus on the carpet. He said she could leave whenever she liked, so perhaps now was the time. He’d disclosed that she made him uncomfortable, and that was all well and good, now that she’d used his shower; she could leave, now. That would be good for the both of them. He could stay here and clean the house more or have more saké, and she could return to the night.
      Yet she still found herself opening her mouth. “You said that you were a college student…”
      He snorted a laugh. “Oh yeah, I thought that was obvious by now.”
      Ami looked at her feet. “And that means that you don’t have any money.”
      “Not a lot.”
      She ought to find someone else, then. She was clean, now, so perhaps it was possible. Nothing could be as bad as the three, and if she could be given credits for it, then so much better. But Nakano-san could not help her, here.
      “My friend, when he gets back though,” Hinata added abruptly. “In a week or so, I think.” He still had the little cup in his teeth, though it was empty, speaking thoughtfully through it. “He might be able to help you out.”
     Ami didn’t move. What did that mean.
     “He’s a sucker for cute girls.”
     Ami still did not compute, but she turned her face to look at him, alarm surfacing in her expression, dark eyes wide.
     “Oh,” the young man amended quickly, dropping the cup and catching it in his hand. “Not like that, no,” laughing uneasily. “No, it’s okay, Ueda-san. You don’t have to do that stuff for money, you know.”
     The girl looked at him, and quickly looked away.
     “You definitely don’t seem like the type.” He chuckled, recovering himself, crossing his legs. “I mean, do you even know what sex is?”
     Ami blanched, and turned to glare at him.
     “Hahaha, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he waved a hand. “But I did get you to make a facial expression, so score one for me!”
     She turned huffily away. “I do know what it is. I’m not stupid.”
     “Ah, I’m sorry, Ueda-san. Didn’t mean to be so rude.” He tossed the little saké cup to the other corner of the couch.
     There was a silence, until the girl cleared her throat, and muttered into her knees, “Do you know someone named Inoue Hiroko.”
     “Huh? Uh, I don’t think so.”
     “Mm.” Well, she’d figured as much.
     “How come?”
     Ami didn’t answer. The metal inside her throbbed, as she experienced another wave of revulsion from her stomach. She shut her eyes. Perhaps if she was not going to leave, she could fall asleep, right now.
     But Hinata got up from the couch, giving her no time to as she opened her eyes to follow his movements. He stepped around her and picked up the saké cup from the couch and she heard a clink as he placed it in the sink. “I’ll do us both a favor and not have any more,” she heard him laugh. Ami was not made unhappy by the announcement.
     Then he crashed on the couch behind her, and she turned to see him looking as though he fixed to fall asleep there just then. She blinked a few times, before he suddenly bolted upright and said, “Oh, but right, you were going to sleep here.”
      Ami raised a hand to object, but before she could say anything, he was already climbing off and dumping a pillow and a few blankets on the thing. “There you go, Ueda-san.”
     The girl didn’t take the invitation, even when he was stepping way and kicking around his own futon into readiness for sleep, a few yards away. She blinked at the pillow on the couch, the blankets. This was how she’d slept, back when she was with father. She frowned a little.
     “Need anything else?”
     She looked over to see Nakano-san at the light-switch, on the far end of the room.
     She shook her head.
     “Alright.” The lights went off, and she heard him crawl into his futon. “Goodnight.”
     Ami was still sitting against the couch, looking at its adornments through the darkness. “Goodnight, Nakano-san…”
     “You can call me Hinata, if you want.”
     “Okay.”
     There was a long silence, and she thought he was asleep; she was contemplating getting onto the sofa, before he was speaking again. “And we’ll get you that plane ticket. You don’t have to worry.”
     Ami’s face flamed, and she rubbed her nose. It was kind of him, to say such things.
     But, “Okay,” was all she said in reply.
     “Goodnight,” he said again.
     “Goodnight,” she repeated.
     She crept onto the sofa, when she heard his sleeping-breath. The pillow smelled like feathers and boy, and the blankets were very hot. But she kept herself covered in them, savoring the feeling, the feeling of being warm. And the darkness that had no neon-light shadows or red glow of cigarette-butts. An unbroken darkness, a nostalgic warmth. The sound of another’s breathing nearby. Not her own, not on top of her, but just a little ways off. It reminded her of a home.
     Ami did not sleep that night, however. She would not let herself wet Nakano-san’s couch, or throw up in his house. She stayed awake, conscious, hot under the blankets, eyes glowing against the pillow, hair drying the only activity in the night. She had not made any money, but Hinata wasn’t having her do anything, either. He’d invited her to his house. Just to bathe, just to sleep. That’d been it. And here she was. Here she was, and that’d been it. That was all.
     She tried not to think about it, but couldn’t.
     And she was gone when he awoke.