chapter fifteen

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Am veeeery busy right now :( Thank you for waiting!

According to China, it only took her one whole day to pack the things she brought to his apartment, momentary slacking off included.

This time, it takes more or less a week.

Sougo is of no help to the process. On the contrary, he does his best to hinder her as much as possible. Just to be annoying, of course. Certainly not because he wants her to stay just a little longer.

In his defense, she isn't really that productive, either. For instance: when it comes to the clothes, every time she folds one or two articles of clothing, she takes a snack break and/or watches TV. Then he joins her and he picks a fight and they make a mess of the room and they make a mess of each other and China girl has to rest for a while before continuing to pack.

The boss drops by every day to take away what meager possessions she managed to box during the day. He whines about their slowness, the weight of the boxes, the distance from Sougo's place to theirs, the physics of leaving.

Each day creates more space as it passes. But as Sougo walks from his room to hers, he gets a vague impression that the apartment is shrinking. In his head she is no longer there. He is bracing himself against the suddenness of it, so that when she is not here anymore it will feel like she has left a long time ago.

Sougo pauses at the doorway, looks at the mess all around her and at her, both of which will be gone in a few more days. This bedroom, once again stripped bare. He thinks of how unbearable it was at first to see it so empty, how seeing the traces of his sister left untouched felt even worse—the lengths to which he went to deny her absence.

Now he watches China girl fade from this room, bit by bit, and he has to disturb her again. He has to. He goes inside. Kneeling on the floor, in the middle of sorting and storing a bunch of bottles and tubes Sougo doesn't understand, she looks up at him. She stops what she's doing and watches him approach. He sits behind her and slowly undoes her braid. She sits still for one infinite second, then without a word, she turns back to the task at hand and keeps going.

In this way they have learned to speak a language other than violence. Of course, as Sougo rests his chin on her shoulder and she finishes packing whatever those things are, he upturns their containers and unloads them onto the floor, sending China girl's hard work rolling around in front of them. Her fist smashes into his face, sending him flying.

Their fights don't tend to last long within such a confined space. Besides, no matter how many times they punch each other, at the end of the day, the boss will still arrive, China will still hastily throw whatever is within reach into a box, and the boss will carry her things away, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Sougo the entire time.

When there is no perm in sight, they fuck in the middle of the mess, sweeping aside pens and hairpins and boxes, cursing each random object poking them as they roll around the floor, cursing and silencing each other with tongue, hand, cock, the curve between her neck and her shoulder lodged between his teeth like he's screaming.

In this way they can act like they are invincible to changes. She still cooks the same damn thing every meal so that Sougo has to wake up earlier to make sure they can taste some other breakfast besides egg-on-rice. The street-level windows still make him stop in the middle of his tracks, and sometimes he is tempted to stay in place forever because it empties him, makes him feel like he doesn't know anybody in the world, only their shoes and the way they walk.

If Sougo really thinks about it, he will be the only one staggered by her moving out. China's home has always been the boss' place. This is just a return to the status quo, and once again he will be surrounded by ghosts.

On China's last night in the apartment, as she snores in his bed (because she has packed away her sheets and also she is here, with him), Sougo wanders in the dark. Out the bedroom, around the living room, into the kitchen and back out again and then he retraces his steps and does it all over. He has lived in this place long enough to move through it without bumping into anything. He has spent long days suffocating here, right here, on this couch. And then Sundays: sunlit hours just sitting with his sister, eventually dozing off, and when he wakes up it is dusk and she is asleep, a quilt draped over the two of them.

He hovers over the dominating emptiness and shuffles back to the bedroom. He lowers himself onto the bed and the mattress' exhale coincides with China's sigh.

In the morning, as they kick each other under the dining table, he tells her over breakfast (rice and shrimp tempura—he woke up first) that as soon as he is able, he's going to move out.

Her feet stop. She considers him in silence, then devours a few more servings. Languid and rhythmic: the sounds of chewing and the clacking of chopsticks against bowls and plates.

(Shit, he's going to miss this.)

"Why?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I need bigger windows."

He doesn't explain, but she nods once and he can't believe it's this easy to tell her that without her, this place is a black hole and he wants out. They finish the rest of their meal without saying another word.

It is only when China stands, walks and stops by his chair that she finally says something: "Since you are a good-for-nothing idiot, you will need my help finding a new place, yes? I will have to sacrifice the precious time usually reserved for our clients, so you have to pay me, yes?"

Sougo chews, swallows. He pushes his empty plate away. "I'll just pay you with my body," he says, then pulls her down by the collar to kiss her.

Their violence, their hunger topples the chair he's sitting on, and right then and there, clawing and biting like animals, grabbing and clutching like thieves, loving and cursing and fumbling like accidents, they fuck on this kitchen floor for the last time.

There is no use delaying any longer. No matter how many times Sougo empties the boxes, it only takes a few minutes to fill them again. All that is left are the small things, easy to fit anywhere. When he gives up, she finishes packing with ease. They carry the last of her possessions into the living room and sets them near the front door.

Afterwards, they stand at the doorway of his sister's, China girl's, no one's bedroom. As he stares at it, he feels their gazes on him.

"I'm visiting tomorrow," he says to all of them.

None of them say anything.

"Then again before I go to work next week."

The bed with the stripped mattress in the far corner opposite the door. Clean white sheets folded on top of the pillows.

"You're welcome to fuck off for that second visit. The mayo addict better not be there, either."

Tape marks and faded paint on the wall beside it.

"I'll drop by around dusk."

"I will be there, yes?"

"I just told you to fuck off, China. What's wrong with you? You better bring her something."

To his left, an empty corkboard, scarred with more holes than before. Pins in a small case on top of the dresser below. The dresser, hollow, the top drawer slightly ajar as if closed too hastily.

China girl's index finger sneaks into the belt loop of his pants. Tugs on it. "Sadist."

"Again? The hell? What kind of cave is that between your legs?"

She ignores this. "Your new place should be very very far from Gin-chan and me, yes? I do not want to see your chihuahua face too often."

A full-length mirror, reflecting the bedroom and nothing else. Nothing else.

"I'll get one on the opposite side of the city. I'll kill you if you trespass on my territory."

To their right, a desk and a chair. The desk, nothing on top of it. The chair, sleek, its leather upholstery marked with stray marks of pens. Unoccupied.

"Like I would go anywhere near you after the shady things you did to me!"

"The hell are you talking about? We haven't even gotten anywhere near shady. We were rather vanilla." He rakes his nails across the back of her neck. "Give me enough time and I can show you real, actual lechery, China girl."

Her fingers curl. "Hmm. Maybe I will get lost. Maybe I will trespass on some tax robber's property, yes?"

If he squints, he feels like he can see Mitsuba somewhere here. But he doesn't; he turns away from the room, sees the trash can near them. Filled to the brim with crumpled paper and plastic wrappers.

"Maybe you will," he murmurs, and by the time he walks away to take a piss, he is still breathing.

The world is tinted with the last of the day's light when the boss drops by to haul China girl's possessions off. As he troops to the front door with the boxes, China tells him about Sougo's decision. A pause. Then the boss simply glances at him. Nods once as if in complete understanding. Dead fish eyes peer into his with unnerving intensity. "Need bigger windows, Shin-kun?"

Sougo and China stare at him. He shrugs in the lackadaisical manner he has been scorned, mocked and harried about for years, and walks out of the apartment with nary a single fuck given.

Loss knows loss, Sougo supposes. In the end, all he says to his retreating back is "It's Sougo."

China girl lingers. There is nothing of her left in his place except for her. For the hundredth time, she demands that he visit her whenever he can so she can wipe the floor with his puny, exercise-deprived ass for fun. But he's not in the mood to match her tsundere-ness with his own. He interrupts her blathering with more kisses until neither of them can stand properly anymore.

But eventually they have to stop because the boss is waiting for her upstairs. He walks her to the door but doesn't follow her outside. She turns back once to shout, "Dogface!", he raises his middle finger at her, then she grins and turns away from him.

Sougo closes the door. He waits for a bit, walks toward the couch where he buried himself along with his sister, and sits down with the slowness of a man who has much ahead of him. The leather creaks. He rests his elbows on his knees and looks up at the street-level windows.

Sure enough, he eventually sees black boots accompanied by a distinctly pale pair of ankles peeking from under the red hem of a cheongsam. They stop and face the glass directly, but the boots leave after the longest of moments. He never takes his gaze off the small black shoes left behind, not even when they pivot and start walking away. Sougo finds himself smiling faintly as he watches them until they are completely out of sight.

fin

Our wars are never over.

(Colum McCann)

A/N: Thank you for reading, everyone! I was going for a quiet and open ending, and I hope that wasn't too dramatic, especially for these two. Anyway. See you whenever ~