Hello, Author here.

Here is a little break from Nao's snark. With it comes the introduction of part 2. I hope you enjoy.

The Outsider

The scent of cigarettes and booze and the funk of sweat and sex creates a simple, rich perfume of that spells out nothing but failure to the disheartened middle aged men who carouse around the clubbing districts of Tokyo in the middle of the night. Perhaps if they were ten years younger, still bright eyed and in awe of the flashing lights surrounding them, they would have likened this mixture of smells as the badge of their accomplishments in their young lives. Everything would be instantly better when viewed through the eyes of one growing up, rather than one who has already taken that trip only to gain nothing but a few gray hairs and a disappointed sigh that spoke of too many lonely nights.

Me? I simply sat back and took it all in.

It would be foolish to differentiate myself from the disappointed masses. In fact I should have considered myself a queen of their destitute natures. For I was suffering as much as they were, and I was no stranger to failure like so many people had assumed I would be. Money would solve only a minute portion of my problems, and it would invite so many more over the years. I knew this just as well as I knew that it would take at least half a bottle of vodka for me to even notice that something was just begging to pull my lips into some grotesque imitation of a smile. Laughter would come more easily, then finally the cruel arms of sobriety would claim me and dunk me once more into the pool of misery that I had just managed to climb out of.

What was I waiting for?

The delinquent high-schoolers that surround the 7-11 on the corner are three seconds away from a new pack of smokes. Hovering on the verge of obnoxiousness, their bright eyes and chattering mouths only paint them out to be nothing more than dirty-minded virgins. They are, for lack of a better term, excited. They are excited over every joint, every drink, every chance at sex. I wonder if that wide-eyed excitement ever entered my mind before. Maybe once, I can't quite recall.

But damn, I ran out of vodka.

Time to go to the liquor store.

Maybe I would be able to forget Natsuki for one more night.

The door opens, and something runs into me, soft and warm. She's too light, at times, and I worry about her as my hands shoot out and clamp over her small shoulders. I have even more of a height advantage over her than most people, but this strange difference seems to make holding her even more comfortable… but I quit it and instead push her away from me so I can look at her more closely. She is panting, now, and one of her eyes is already swelling up in an alarming manner. I narrow my eyes—it looked as if she had run into someone's fist. Frankly it didn't surprise me, but then I felt something slick run down the length of my arm.

It's interesting to see something that comes so close to the color of my own eyes. Blood has a copper tinge but in the right light it gets so bright and deceptively red that you forget yourself as you watch it run.

She's no stranger to pain, but this is the worst I have seen her. She makes it no secret that she still strings up perverts and beats them up for cash after drawing them in her web of lies and deceit. But the times are hard and the beatings harder, and she can never quite get out of them without sustaining some sort of injury. But this is worse, much worse than I had seen. Her shoulders are shaking and while her eyes make no sign of pain I can tell quite easily that something terribly wrong has happened.

She still says nothing, even as Reito runs in after her with a bag of bandages in hand. I cannot hear what he shouts to my face as she is escorted to the couch. All I focus on is the dots of red that streak the entrance of my apartment. As I stare, something pulls deep within me and I clench my fist.

No one makes her bleed.

I wonder for a moment what makes me think that thought, but it is lost as I grab my coat and walk out into the darkness.

This is my element, my blood, my only way to pay her back.

I pick them out, hanging around a sleazy establishment. It's not particularly hard—I didn't survive without some ability to differentiate the wolves from the sheep. And these men are the worst in their mild disguises, blending in with the innocents as they order drinks and congratulate themselves on teaching some bitch a lesson.

Bad actors, with bad habits.

When they finally see me they see nothing more than a girl with a sober expression on her face, so when I nod politely towards the back door they see no reason why they shouldn't follow. The cold air hits my face and I draw in a slow, steady breath. In my pocket there is a small switchblade, a present from a remnant of the past. The handle is etched with a detailed picture of an ouroboros, and my finger runs against the raised edges with a growing sense of calm.

The first man is down before he can even grip my arm. I flick the knife out and watch with quiet curiosity as the blood flings out in one clean arc. His howls of pain are lost within the outraged growls of his companions, but unlike the wolf I used to know, these animals are undisciplined and poorly matched in a fight. Despite my growing disgust they fall down maimed, and the blade is cleaned before I flick it back into its handle.

I exhale.

Why was I out here? Oh yeah. Vodka.

But I find myself walking back to my apartment, my steps feeling rather heavy. I'm not too sure what I have just brought upon myself. Did I really just maim these men? Sure, I suppose. I shake my head and walk in the door, only to see Reito looking at me with a mildly-concerned expression on his face. It is always mild, for he has learned over the years that anything past mild is something that I cannot acknowledge without letting my own guard down. But he nods his head towards my room and picks up his things without a word, and I am left alone in the darkness once more.

This is stifling. I almost forget to breathe for a moment and when I do the copper scent returns to my nose and my hands start to shake.

The door to my room is ajar and it offers little resistance as I push it open. She is sitting on the edge of my bed with her arm covered in white bandages. Her head is down, her lips already swollen from biting down. The swelling of her eye from earlier is now starting to change to some strange color, a mix of violent blues and reds, and for a second I stare at it. Then her head snaps up as if she finally notices I have arrived, and the poisonous green of her eyes is gone, replaced with a softer jade that simultaneously surprises and upsets me.

We were only supposed to tolerate each other.

I admit to some sloppiness on my part as she stares at my coat arm. I will have to remember to dump it later. I shrug and take off the coat, revealing nothing more than clean, unbroken skin. Her eyes grow softer and she does the only thing she probably knows how to do other than yell.

Her lips crash into mine—she is curiously inexperienced. But I close my eyes and let her arms snake around my waist. After a moment her head is buried into my chest and I feel a memory echo in my head. When was the last time this happened? The smell of the sea enters my brain and I remember with a rueful smile. This time the hug is not joined with a right hook to the jaw, but that's fine with me. I wrap my arms around her frail figure and hold her. Was it right? I don't know. But this causes me to smile, and I bury my face into her hair and breathe in slowly.

Everything around us is turning into the biggest pile of ashes as our unstable bridges begin to burn. But if I was the fire that threatened to consume everything we knew, then she was stubbornly fireproof.

Shizuru's characterization is a bit more extreme than the polite Kaichou, lol.

Part 2 is coming soon, and with it the answer to the biggest question of Part 1.

Cheers.