Dark Rooms

by Angela

02-14-04

 

Part Two

 

The next day was silent, almost hollow.  Eiji didn’t get out of bed until dusk.  In the meantime, Shunichi tried to sort out this new twist in their lives.  He spent a lot of time on the phone with Max and Charlie, until a clear picture of events formed in his head.  They all agreed to keep the details of Ash’s death from Eiji.  He spoke with Eiji’s parents, explaining yet again that their son was not coming home as planned.  He didn’t have to lie to them this time, as he’d been forced to while they were on the run toward California, but the truth came harder than the lies, and the Okumuras didn’t understand how their son could be in Tokyo but unwilling to come home.

 

“He’ll explain it all to you as soon as he’s ready,” was all Shunichi could tell them.  In the meantime, they grudgingly gave their permission for their son to continue to stay with him.  Shunichi hung up the phone feeling a bit belligerent.  If Eiji didn’t want to go home, it was his own business.  The boy was twenty years old, certainly old enough to decide what to do with his own life.

 

He was just coming out of the darkroom when Eiji finally emerged from the bedroom.  He hadn’t eaten or drank all day, and his face was sallow and puffy from crying.  He didn’t say anything to Shunichi when he passed; he just looked at his feet and stumbled to the kitchen for a drink.  Shunichi watched him gulp the water, watched the desperate way he refilled the glass and drank again, unmindful of the rivulets that streamed down his chin and neck.  At least his instincts were intact.  When the boy had refused food and water early in the day, Shunichi half-wondered if he was trying to die.

 

“If you’re hungry, I have some leftovers from lunch that you can heat up.  Or, if you’d rather, we can go out for something.”  Shunichi knew he sounded a bit too much like a mother, but he was worried.  Even in the lowest point of his depression, Eiji had never been like this.

 

“No thank you,” Eiji said quietly, closing out the last orange rays of sunlight with the blinds.  He crawled onto the sofa, pulling the blankets up to his chin.  “Sorry for taking your bed all day.”

 

Shunichi wanted to tell him that he was welcome to it.  Seeing him curled up on that narrow couch, shivering on a warm evening, made his heart ache.  “Do you want to talk?” he asked cautiously.

 

Eiji looked up at him, pain excruciatingly visible in his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Ibe-san,” he began in a soft, polite voice.  “But I’d rather be alone.”

 

Shunichi nodded and went back to work, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that being alone might be the worst thing for his friend.  He closed the door to the old bathroom and flipped on his red work light.  The darkroom was hung with dripping images of everything that Eiji needed to forget--scenes from that first day in the pool hall, when Ash still regarded him as an enemy and his gang looked distrustfully at his camera.  He dropped his latest photograph into the developer and the image of Ash’s first smile emerged from blank white.  Shunichi had snapped it while Eiji was studying Ash’s gun, amazed at the change in the young gang leader’s face as soon as he smiled.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet he clearly remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach as Eiji guilelessly returned the grin.

 

The way he felt about Eiji was something that Shunichi had realized and accepted early in their relationship.  It was his secret--not to be discussed and not to be acted upon.  He’d never dreamed in a million years that the time would come that his willpower would be tested.  He’d managed to work with the boy for over a year now, since before he gave up jumping and quit school, and no one ever realized that the older-brother affection that he seemed to feel for Eiji was really so much more.  Though it had pained him to see Eiji falling in love with Ash, Shunichi thought that his feelings were under control, possibly fading with his acceptance of the boys’ relationship.  Max had hinted otherwise, though how Max had figured it out, Shunichi couldn’t tell.

 

And now, after a night of wakefulness and physical awareness, he was back at the beginning.  He was relieved that Eiji had found his way back to the couch, that all of his nights weren’t going to be complicated by the tingling awareness of Eiji’s body pressed warm and close against his skin.  Still, lying awake that night, Shunichi couldn’t help but feel that the bed was too large and too cold.  For the better part of a year he hadn’t had a room to himself, and now that he was finally alone, he found it was uncomfortably lonely.

 

The next day was better for both of them.  When Shunichi got up he found Eiji awake and in the kitchen, chopping green onions to add to scrambled eggs and tuna.  The boy smiled.  “Good morning, Ibe-san,” he greeted him.  “You like your toast very light, right?”

 

Shunichi found himself smiling back, some deep pressure in his chest releasing at the sight of Eiji’s cheered expression.  “Feeling better?” he asked as he poured himself tea.

 

A shadow crossed Eiji’s face.  “A little,” he said quietly.  He flipped the slabs of tuna over in the frying pan.  “Keeping busy helps.”

 

It was then that Shunichi noticed that all of the dishes had been washed and the floor tiles scrubbed.  He glanced around the rest of the room.  All of Eiji’s blankets had been folded and neatly stowed beneath the bench and the mail had been sorted into piles. 

 

“Thank you for letting me stay with you, Ibe-san,” he continued.  “I’ll cook and clean and I won’t be any trouble at all.”

 

Shunichi shook his head.  “That’s not necessary,” he told his friend, mussing his hair.  “You’re here because I want you stay, not because I wanted a housekeeper.  Besides, you’re my assistant, after all.  I might need your help getting this book together.”

 

Eiji’s eyes widened.  “Ah!  The book!  I forgot!  Have you developed many of the pictures yet?”  Since working with him, Eiji had come to enjoy the entire process of photography, but his real interest and talent was always in the dark room.  Eiji had developed and printed his entire last project, and Shunichi noticed he had an eye for recognizing a good photograph with a solid composition even on a tiny negative.

 

But it might hurt him to be surrounded by glossy memories.  At least a third of his photographs had been of Ash in some capacity.  “I’d rather develop these myself,” Shunichi told Eiji.  “I have a lot of images to choose from, since we were there so long, and I’d like to choose my prints carefully.”  He hoped it didn’t sound selfish; all he really wanted was to protect the boy from being reminded of his pain.

 

Eiji nodded.  “I understand.”  He gave Shunichi another weak smile.  “Let me know how I can help you,” he answered formally.

 

After that, Shunichi kept busy in the darkroom and Eiji ran the errands to and from the studio.  It took some convincing to get the publishers to let him work from home, but finally they agreed.  It made Shunichi feel better to know that he wouldn’t have to leave Eiji home alone.  He didn’t know why it made him nervous to leave Eiji by himself, but his instincts won out and he rarely left for more than an hour or two at a time.  His days were dark--both emotionally and physically--as he worked beneath his red light, watching memories emerge under the smooth chemicals.  He used a blow dryer to hurry the process, and took care to hide the photographs whenever he wasn’t in the darkroom.  It was their only bathroom, after all, and Eiji didn’t need to stumble into Ash’s ghost between the toilet and the sink. 

 

For his part, Eiji tried to keep busy.  When he wasn’t helping Shunichi with his work or doing the housework he insisted on taking care of, he wrote letters, keeping in contact with Max and Sing even though it seemed to Shunichi that it would be easier to let them all go.  After that first night, Shunichi never saw him cry, though he sometimes heard the muffled sounds of sobbing late at night.  There were bad days, when Eiji spent hours curled up on the couch, staring out the window or up at the ceiling.  During those dark periods he spoke little or not at all, and he wandered around the tiny apartment, seeming to stare through walls.

 

On one such evening, after Eiji refused yet another offer to go out for dinner, Shunichi made up his mind.  He packed up a bundle of toiletries and towels and thrust them into Eiji’s hands.  “We’re going to the bathhouse,” he announced.  It was unseasonably warm, and he thought it might do his friend good to get out and enjoy the air.  “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sick of sponge baths and washing my hair in the sink.  A good soak will do us both good.”

 

To his surprise, Eiji didn’t protest.  Ten minutes later they were outside in the cool evening air.  The cherry trees were in bloom and their fragrant petals littered the sidewalk.  The sun had set less than an hour before, so the sky was deep blue with lingering light.

 

Shunichi took a deep breath.  “Ah, it’s good to be in Japan in the spring,” he said lightly.

 

Eiji looked up.  His blurry eyes focused on the trees for the first time, glancing at the old homes and apartments nearby.  “Yeah,” he agreed softly.  “It’s quieter here than in America.”  He readjusted his grip on the bucket of soap and fresh clothes and straightened his shoulders a fraction.  “This time of year always reminds me of school.  Makes me want to run.”

 

Shunichi was secretly thrilled.  It was more than Eiji had said for hours.  He didn’t push, letting them walk the rest of the way in silence. 

 

The bathhouse was busy.  Light spilled onto the sidewalk beneath the curtain and the noise of friendly chatter filled the air.  Soon they were squeaky clean and relaxing in hot, herb-scented water.  Shunichi grinned at Eiji through the steamy air.  “Sometimes I think that changing my bathroom to a darkroom was the best thing I ever did.  I’d never make time for this if I still had a tub at home.”

 

Eiji nodded and sank lower into the water.  His cheeks were flushed and healthy-looking, but his eyes were sad, withdrawn.  “My father and I used to come a lot when I was little.  Then we just got too busy.”  Eiji mumbled.  Shunichi was grateful that his friend was making an effort to be social, but it didn’t ease the knot of concern in his chest.

 

“Eiji-kun?”  A young voice called out across the huge tub.  “Okumura Eiji-kun?”  A boy Eiji’s age walked toward them in the water.  He had longish hair and freckles.  “I saw your sister just last week, and she didn’t say you were back in town!”  The boy laughed and plopped himself down next to them.

 

“Hajime-kun!”  Eiji’s eyes widened.  “Ibe-san, this is Fujiwara Hajime-kun.  We were in the same class in high school.  Hajime-kun, this is my--” he seemed to stumble for the right word.  “This is my mentor, Ibe-san.  We only just got back from America a couple of weeks ago,” he explained.

 

Shunichi moved away and let the boys talk.  Eiji was still more reserved than he had been a year before, but Shunichi was glad that his friend had shown up.  He watched as Eiji pushed his hair out of his eyes--he’d let it grow so long while they were away--and smiled at a joke his friend made.  His voice was deeper, and he looked his age for the first time.  There was sharpness to his face that hadn’t been there a year before.  This wasn’t the credulous boy he’d taken to New York. 

 

Shunichi’s chest tightened in familiar longing. 

 

The walk home was pleasant.  Apparently talking with his old schoolmate had done some good.  Eiji was animated and Shunichi let him talk about whatever he wanted, happy to have, at least for the moment, his Ei-chan back.  They stopped for soba on the way back to the apartment, and the young man not only ate a full meal, but also drank a couple of cans of beer, which loosened his mood further.  By the time they got home, he seemed okay for the first time since leaving New York.

 

“Thank you, Ibe-san,” he said as Shunichi unlocked the door.  He looked bashfully at the ground.  “You’ve done so much for me, and I know I’ve been troublesome.”

 

Shunichi ushered him into the dark living room and closed the door.  “It’s nothing, Ei-chan,” he assured him.  It was late and he was feeling the heady effect of the steam and alcohol himself.  “Go on to bed--we have a lot to do in the morning.”  He smiled and headed toward the bedroom.

 

Eiji’s hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

 

“Really, Ibe-san,” his voice persisted earnestly, “I know you don’t really understand how I feel.  You and Ash weren’t--” he cut off and leaned his forehead on Shunichi’s shoulder blade.  “I mean, it’s not like you spent the same time with him, and yet you’ve been so patient and sympathetic.”  The timbre of Eiji’s voice changed, and Shunichi could tell he was crying.  “I’m sorry.”

 

He turned around and put his hands on Eiji’s shoulders.  Seeing him this upset made Shunichi’s stomach lurch.  “It’s okay, Ei-chan,” he said softly.  “You’re allowed to be upset.  You’re allowed to cry.  You and Ash . . . .”  Shunichi was hesitant to try to define their relationship.  His face felt hot as he remembered the way Ash treated him when they visited in prison.  “You and Ash had something really special, and losing that is going to hurt for a long time.”

 

He pushed Eiji’s long fringe of hair away from his eyes.  He wanted to smooth away the damp rivulets that streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t have the nerve.  “And until it stops hurting, you can stay right here.”

 

Eiji’s arms came around him hard.  For long minutes Shunichi stood still, holding Eiji’s shaking body against his.  “I’m empty inside,” the boy whispered, his mouth moving against Shunichi’s collarbone.  “When I’m busy it’s not so bad, but as soon as I stop moving it all goes away and then there’s nothing.”  He fumbled his hands across Shunichi’s back and pulled back awkwardly to look into his face.  “I want to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”  His expression was soft and desperate, and without warning he kissed Shunichi, his mouth pressing frantically against his. 

 

Shunichi’s first reaction was to return the kiss.  Almost of its own accord, his mouth opened beneath the onslaught of Eiji’s kiss, his senses reeling with the damp soapy smell of him and the slightly yeasty taste of noodles and beer on his tongue.  He tightened his grip on Eiji’s shoulders as the boy pressed against the hard length of his body.  This could only be a fantasy, the kind of dream that woke him from deep sleep, aroused and trembling.  Shunichi closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

 

But only until the salty wetness of Eiji’s tears transferred over to Shunichi’s face.  Reality rose like sickness in him, and he abruptly pulled away from the kiss.  He pushed Eiji back until they stood an arm’s length apart and tried not to interpret the mournful confusion on the boy’s face.

 

“This isn’t the answer,” he cautioned, maybe a bit too roughly.  His eyes focused on the wall and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Eiji or himself.  His hand came unwillingly to his mouth, but he covered the reaction by stroking his mustache.  “I can’t be a substitute lover.  This isn’t going to help you.”

 

Eiji continued to cry, his face a mixture of mortification and shame.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

Shunichi softened.  “Nothing to apologize for,” he answered gruffly.  “Just be strong and wait it out--you’ll see I’m right.”  He went into the bedroom and closed the door.  It took hours to fall asleep.