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Three sharp raps on the door pull Rei out of his daze. He blinks for what feels like the first time in days, his eyes stinging, as his brain attempts to switch gears. Judging by the sunlight filtering in through the window (which he immediately recoils from, unused to the brightness after a night of alternating between staring at his laptop's screen and his phone and the photos and documents he's managed to accumulate), it's late morning. He hasn't slept; it's lucky that he has no other responsibilities today.
When he stands, he intends only to check the peephole and see which of his neighbors has dropped by unannounced, so he doesn't bother to clean up his mess. He's not letting anyone inside, anyway; nobody will see the shrine to a dead man he has strewn out over his table. What he sees when he checks, though, leaves him somehow even more disoriented.
The distorted, fish-eyed view through the peephole shows him only what appears to be a potted, deep pink orchid plant in someone's hand, and a hint of a red box. He squeezes his eyes shut, fending off the incoming headache and willing his visitor to leave – they obviously have the wrong place.
When he checks again, they're still standing there, waiting to be acknowledged. With a sigh, he unlocks the door and opens it, and immediately regrets his decision. In his sleepless, frantic delirium, he seems to have conjured the phantom of Akai Shuuichi – bearing a potted plant and what appears to be a box of Valentine's chocolates – before his eyes.
He blinks. The apparition remains.
He sighs and steps away, closing the door and locking it behind him. What he needs is to focus, not his brain playing nasty tricks on him.
Making a decision, he cleans up his clutter, shutting down his laptop and putting everything away, then washes the mug that had once, hours ago, held an inadvisable amount of coffee, given the time of day. Satisfied that his living space no longer feels disorganized, he heads into the bathroom to take a shower, cursing his tired brain the whole way.
It should be completely inconceivable to him that he would hallucinate such a ridiculous scene, but he can't deny, despite his feelings about the man, that they have a history. This isn't even the first time Valentine's Day has come up for them – although it took seeing the box of chocolates for Rei to realize today is, in fact, Valentine's Day.
How utterly dramatic of Akai Shuuichi to have died when he did. Friday the thirteenth and the day before Valentine's? Perhaps that unfortunate combination is why his ghost is haunting Rei.
(Not that Rei believes he's really dead; the phantom outside his door does give him pause, however.)
But – Valentine's Day. Four years ago, Bourbon and Rye were sent on a reconnaissance mission that they both quickly realized was pointless – who discusses business with a client on a Valentine's date? – so, halfway through, the dinner had felt more like a date than a mission, a fact which Rye pointed out on more than one occasion.
Rye was… a very good actor, back then. He'd spent the entire evening looking at Rei as if he were the only one in the room, he'd flirted in a way that felt natural – casually brushing Rei's hand with his fingers if it was close enough to him, smiling at him so that those dangerously pretty eyes of his crinkled a little at the corners, even hooking his foot around Rei's ankle under the table. Looking back, that evening serves as a stark reminder that Akai Shuuichi was a honeypot from the start.
It galls Rei to admit that even he had been lured in.
They'd ended up in bed together after – one of the worst mistakes of Rei's life, with the benefit of hindsight – and then their dynamic, at least behind closed doors, shifted in a such a way that, when it ended, with all the finality a bullet to the heart could bring, it left Rei dizzy, picking up the pieces of his own heart, shattered so thoroughly that any hope of it ever being whole again was futile. And Rei wishes he could say, that he could believe, that it was only because of Hiro's death.
Ever since that horrific December night, anything he foolishly felt for or believed about Rye was replaced by pure, unadulterated hatred and anger, burning so hot and bright that Rei thought it might consume him, too.
He scoffs at himself. For once in his life, he'd thought that he could finally have something that felt real, only to be brutally reminded, in the worst way imaginable, that the only things waiting for him, when all is said and done, are misery and loneliness. He curses himself, he curses Rye, he curses Akai Shuuichi, and he slams his fist into the tiled shower wall, not even flinching at the pain that radiates through his arm. If anything, it grounds him in the present, in a world where he doesn't even get to have his revenge, because Akai Shuuichi went and foolishly got himself killed, apparently.
So far, Rei has found no proof that this isn't the case. The video he received from Gin last night – gloating, despite Gin himself having done absolutely nothing – had been played on loop for two hours straight while Rei searched for a loophole, and then played again a dozen more times throughout the early hours of the morning, over and over and over, as he hoped for some kind of clue that Gin was being duped.
The gunshots, the blood, even Kir's talk with Akai before his murder – all of that would've been easy enough to fake, even on camera. The stumbling blocks came in the form of Kazami reporting to him, as he secretly monitored every detail Division 1 found, on Rei's orders, that a body dressed in Akai's clothing had been found in the truck, charred beyond recognition, aside from fingerprints matching ones found on a borrowed cellphone. They don't have a name yet – the truck was registered to Moroboshi, of course, but the body could've been anyone's – but the clues lead in a certain direction.
Rei is not convinced that it's the correct direction, but he's not telling anyone that. Not yet. He needs more evidence.
If Akai isn't dead, then he must have a death wish, showing up at Bourbon's door like they're a couple. He knows Bourbon despises him.
Akai Shuuichi isn't an idiot, therefore he must be dead.
Rei steps out of the shower, drying himself off and wrapping a towel around his waist, before heading to the sink to brush his teeth and shave the stubble starting to form on his chin, taking his time to make himself presentable, even if he doesn't intend to see anyone today. When he finally leaves the bathroom, he falters in his steps upon spotting Akai fucking Shuuichi sitting at his dining table like he belongs there.
"What the f–"
Akai smiles at him – mockingly. It has to be. "Happy Valentine's, Bourbon."
Rei glances towards the door, where he sees Akai's shoes lined up neatly, more evidence that this is an unwelcome figment of his imagination. Rye was never this well-mannered. "What do you want? Go away." He doesn't bother asking how Akai got inside his apartment; he's unlikely to get a satisfactory answer.
"You didn't really think I'd miss another one of our anniversaries, did you? I'd like to make up for the last three."
Rei glares at his hallucination. "We're not lovers."
Akai chooses not to address that. "When was the last time you slept?"
"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Rei snaps, turning to his closet to find something to wear. Akai doesn't seem to agree with this decision, because he stands and bypasses Rei to pull underwear and clean lounging clothes from his dresser, pushing them into his hands and watching him expectantly. "What are you doing?"
"Taking care of you," Akai answers simply, unconcerned by the annoyance pinching Rei's expression. "You're going to sleep."
Rei, dazed and quickly losing the battle to stay awake and alert, stares down at the clothes in his hands as if they're entirely foreign to him. Then, he looks back at Akai, irritation mounting. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Akai answers, light and amused. He doesn't even pretend to turn around and give Rei privacy. "I've seen you naked before, Bourbon."
"I despise you."
The light in Akai's eyes dims ever so slightly; unfortunately for him, Rei can't quite muster any remorse. "I know."
"If you know–" Rei presses mercilessly, as he removes the towel around his waist. A small, dark part of him, long buried under layers and layers of enmity, relishes in the way Akai's eyes instinctively track down his body; he intentionally takes longer than necessary to dress after that. "–then why are you here?"
"I wanted to see you," Akai admits. Rei curses the spark of longing in his chest at those words.
It's ridiculous. Their entire affair lasted less than a year, and has now been over for more than three; there is nothing left of them to miss.
And yet…
Rye was not Rei's first relationship (if what they had could be called such) – he'd dated some in university, though nothing ever lasted terribly long – but it was his most intense. Something about Rye's personality had just clicked with him, in a way that nobody else ever had, even if, at first, it had only served to annoy him. It hadn't taken long, however, for Rei to come to appreciate how skilled Rye was and how effective their teamwork could be, and it had taken even less time after that for Rei to fall for him.
The truth is, there had been a inkling in the back of Rei's mind, back when he and Rye were – whatever they were – that maybe he could persuade Rye to their side, if Rye cared enough about him. He knows, now, that it was never going to work, both because Rye was already a spy, and because he only ever cared about himself and his goals, but that doesn't prevent Rei from missing the time they had together, when things felt less… impossible.
Rei had wanted, for the first time in his life, something he could maybe keep, even after the fall of the Organization – and Akai Shuuichi proved to him exactly why he could never have it.
Images of Hiro bleeding out on that cursed rooftop manifest in his mind, and he flinches at the sharp sting of betrayal once again. "Leave," he snarls, forcing the quiver out of his voice. "You're not wanted here."
Instead of following orders – and what did he expect, really? Rye never listened either – Akai reaches out and cups Rei's face in his hands, tilting his chin slightly upward. Rei half expects his hands to be ice cold, but they're as warm as ever; it takes all of the fight left in his body not to sink into the touch.
"You took everything from me," he mutters miserably before his brain can step in to stop him. "What more could you possibly want?"
The hands slip away from his face, one pulling him closer as the other threads in his hair. Akai kisses his forehead gently, before resting Rei's head against his sternum. "You. Just you."
Rei wants to be disgusted, to push him away, to order him to leave again – but Akai is comfortably warm and his scent is familiar. Rei's eyes drift closed, and he begins to relax. He doesn't remember crawling into bed, but that's where he finds himself moments later, as the mattress shifts and Akai crawls in next to him.
"I'm sorry about Scotch," Akai whispers into the stillness between them.
Rei's entire body tenses at the name. "Don't," he warns, but Akai continues regardless.
"I couldn't tell you the truth back then, and I don't think you want to hear it now. But I am sorry. I didn't know." What he doesn't know, he doesn't elaborate on; Rei can only take a guess, and it's not something he wants to think about.
Staring at Akai's throat, centimeters away from his face, Rei, quietly anguished, whispers, "Everyone who has ever loved me is dead."
"I'm here," says Akai.
"You're not real. Why must you continue to haunt me?"
There's a desperation to the phantom's touch as he takes Rei's face in his hands again and adjusts both of them so he can look Rei in the eyes. "I'm real. I'm here," he repeats. Lips find Rei's temples and his cheek and then, finally, his mouth, and he surrenders to the kiss, reciprocating with an enthusiasm he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel again.
This is a nice dream, he thinks, as Akai breaks the kiss and moves, instead, to trailing feather-light kisses along his jaw. "Why did you bring me gifts?" he asks, frowning even as the question leaves his mouth. He really must be dreaming, he decides, if his brain is choosing to focus on that right now.
Akai chuckles and pecks him on the lips again. "It's Valentine's Day," he answers.
"Yes, I realize that," Rei grouses with a huff. "I don't even like chocolate much."
"I thought you might appreciate the tradition of it, even if not the sweets themselves." He hums knowingly, shifting slightly to run his fingers through Rei's hair again. "But, since I knew you wouldn't care much for them, I decided to get a plant, too. Something you might actually like. I did think about a bouquet, but I assumed you don't own a vase."
He is, much to Rei's dismay, correct. He's never had a use for a vase – it's not like he buys himself flowers. There's a touching thoughtfulness to Akai's gifts that Rei didn't expect, even if he's wrong about Valentine's Day as a concept; Rei couldn't care less about the tradition, and Akai spending money on chocolates he knew would probably go to waste seems rather pointless.
(And he knows he's correct in his assumption that they're store-bought – Rye could barely boil water for his instant ramen without burning something; there's no way Akai learned the art of homemade chocolates in the last couple of years.)
"Insane," he mumbles, tucking his head under Akai's chin and throwing an arm over his waist. Whether he's talking to himself, for dreaming up such a strange scenario, or Akai for his actions, Rei isn't quite certain. It doesn't matter. He's tired.
"Sleep," Akai insists, kissing his hair. His senses slip away after that, as the dream fades into black nothingness.
When he wakes, he's alone.
It's not unexpected – Akai's phantom had been nothing more than a dream, after all – but he hurts, as though a wound has been torn into his heart, not especially unlike the moment when he saw Hiro's body on the rooftop. Of course he's alone, because Akai Shuuichi is pretending to be dead.
And, even if he wasn't, he wouldn't show up at the apartment of the person who hates him most.
Tears gather in his eyes; angry at himself, he wipes them away and shoves the hurt down. He sits up, and, in a moment of blind fury, punches his pillow to let off some steam. He knew, he knew it wasn't real, it couldn't be real, so why does he have to hurt so much?
The one irrefutable fact of life is that Furuya Rei does not get to be happy. He knows this. He accepted this three years ago. It was stupid and unfair of his brain to trick him into thinking he could have something that felt so real.
He takes a long moment to just sit, recalibrate himself, and get his thoughts in order, breathing in and out, and in and out, until he feels settled and more in control of his emotions. He has work to do – namely, figuring out whether his theory that Akai faked his death is correct, and tracking him down – and he can't allow his feelings to get in the way of that.
He stands, and stretches, and checks the time on his phone – 2:37 PM, time enough for a late lunch without completely disrupting the rest of the day. He wonders how long he slept, but has no way of really knowing. By the looks of the place, the part where he cleaned things up hadn't been a dream, and, judging by the state his hair is in, from having fallen asleep with it still damp, neither had the shower.
As his eyes skim over the rest of his apartment, he freezes suddenly. On his dining table sits a small, red box, decorated with a ribbon, next to a potted, dark pink orchid.