Chapter 18 {Y/N}

I wake to the sound of thunders.

My eyes open to the dim ceiling. Occasional lights flash through the window and rain taps against the glass. The world outside is shrouded in the dark, the downpour like a tangible white sheet forever unfurling. A deafening drum of thunder beats away the fogginess of my mind.

I try to sit up. The act no longer upsets the wound on my chest. It has healed much more over the past weeks, though not too greatly to not hinder smooth mobility. I exert some force into my limps in an attempt to stretch, and feel a numbness of my right arm.

For a moment I think I wouldn't have slept more than some short hours, and that the darkness is the result of the night which I had previously lain awake. That it is still the same night now. That I still have some more time here.

But I doubt that.

Yesterday event comes rushing to my head. Bansai's offer, the choice required from the dilemma. The dreadful dawn of tomorrow. Have I any choice anyway?

I curl up and bury my face to my knees. I'm not behaving right. Soon I would be able to resume my old routines, my old ordinary life of an ordinary girl. Yet that relief feels farfetched, as if I'm looking at it from underwater to a surreal surface. I jump when the door suddenly slides open, and relax when a man steps into the room with a tray of food.

I stare at the meal as he leaves it on the floor not far from me. Before he exits I ask him, the rain nearly drowning out my voice, "What time is it?"

"Noon," he says by the door.

"Is the commander..." Words fail to line up at the mention of him. I swallow back the question. Then with a shake of my head I instead say, "Thank you."

Frowning, the guy steps out and shuts the door.

My gaze goes back to the food. Steam rises from the soup and rice, an inviting aroma wafting to my nose. There has never been a day that my stomach doesn't crave the chef's food. But apparently my appetite has now gone as bleak as the laden sky.

I move to take up the chopsticks and pick a slice of fish into my mouth anyway. Try as I might, my futile attempt to shut away the memories only gives them strength to come dashing in. Those aren't good recollections. Remembering them is like having a sharp object penetrating my insides. Yet still I find myself longing for the thorn that prickles at my right-mindedness. For the narrow and fleeting moment of a golden time amidst thousands of misery. And yet still, as I force down each bite, I taste my own tears and blame the bitterness of it on the cooking.

After finishing, I head out to deposit the dishes back to the kitchen. There the chef looks at me with a visible concern. I clean the wares by the sink, putting up an effort to hide my face.

"Are you alright?" he asks anyway. "Your eyes seem quite red."

"Oh, umm, some dusts went in there," I casually say, and then dry my hands with the towel on the countertop after I'm finished. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you." I give him a smile before walking out of the kitchen, wanting to be rid of his searching gaze.

It's a good thing the hallway is somewhat spacious or else I would have bumped into the passing crews. I don't survey their attitude toward me as I mostly do. My mind broods around the one and only question that's managed to keep me awake for most of last night.

Was Bansai serving an order from Shinsuke when he told me to leave?

It actually shouldn't matter at all. Because either away, it doesn't change the fact that I don't belong here. But the pestering urge to find out won't cease.

Before I know it I'm already standing in front of his room. I raise a hand to knock, but instead my fingers brush silently against the frame. My lips glue together, unable to utter a single word.

Do I really need another excuse to come and see him for the last time?

With ground teeth, I slide the door aside. The window from across projects the still ongoing rain. The room is bare, bland without his presence. I look to the adjoining room. Lightning flashes and for a moment brightens the space within. And he is still not there. Of all the places he could be, there's only one left which I can think of now that it's raining.

I consider waiting. Perhaps he would finish his business in the command room soon and return to his nest. But sitting and staring at the space where he used to occupy probably isn't the best way to enlighten the strain of trying to let go. I close the door.

The rain has been reduced to a gentle shower when I ascend the stairs leading up the deck. Stray drops spatter to my cheek as I reach the top. A misty view of the sea extends beyond the vast area. The pattering of rain crashing down on the wooden floor seems to engulf the world into its cadence. At one side a forest trembles in the winds. I stop short where the roof roughly ends, eyes wide at the sight of the man standing alone at the forecastle.

A gust sweeps through, bellowing his robe and hair before reaching me. Shinsuke doesn't budge, and continues to stare out at the shore that separates the ocean from land. I grab an umbrella from the stand beside the wall before moving out to the open.

"Not bothered to move even if it rains spears?" I ask him, shielding the both of us. The noise around nearly swallows up my question. I gaze up to him. Judging by the sectional drained parts of his yukata he must've had just came too.

When he doesn't acknowledge my being I add a little bit louder, "Let's go inside. You'll catch a cold." I shudder when another rush of wind blows. It gives me a hard time trying to maintain a firm hold on the umbrella above us. "Shinsuke," I exclaim, and grasp his arm.

He finally turns, as if broken from a deep thought. For a second his green eye seems to see through me, to the shadow swirling around my heart. Something hot resurfaces to up my throat. I gulp it down and look away.

"Let's go back inside," I prompt again, not yet letting go of his arm. The hem of my robe is entirely soaked through by the time he moves.

We walk back into the ship. An emotion overtakes me next when I realize he deliberately slows down his stride to match with mine. I wonder how it would be like to walk beside him under the rain, in a different time, in another situation. A wish. A dream untrue.

The crews bow to their commander as they pass along the corridor while I receive hostile gazes mixed with confusion. Our short journey to his room is made in silence, until a soft click of the door as I slide it shut. Shinsuke goes to perch on his usual spot by the window sill. Lightning flares unto him, the following crack of thunder making his image menacing. Then the light subsides and the room plunges back to its dimness. I realize that his hair is dripping.

I look around the room for anything useable. Then remembering the angular silhouettes from earlier, I move to the adjoining room. "I'm sorry for intruding..." I murmur to no one in particular, stepping inside what must be his bedroom.

It's about twice the size of my room at the other wing, with a door leading to what I suspect is a restroom, and is as bare. A wardrobe stands at one corner across the door. Close to where I'm standing is a mahogany cabinet with multiple drawers. I've never been comfortable with prying into other people things as opposed to how relaxed I am now going to the furniture and pulling out the lowest drawer.

Bingo. Several clean towels packed the little room. I carefully draw one out before pushing the drawer back.

Shinsuke turns to me when I come back out, glances at the towel in my hand then looks away. I'm not entirely sure how he feels about a stranger going into his private quarter, though I'm inclined to know. As well as about other things.

I'm about to touch the towel to his hair when he glares at me. "I told you to stop treating me like a child," he snaps.

"I'm not," I counter. "I'm treating a fully grown adult who is rather persistent."

"Aren't you the same?"

I blink at him. "About what?"

He doesn't reply back. I finally let out the awaiting smile as he turns back to the scene outside. Reluctantly, I reach for his hair, the towel immediately absorbing water. His dark locks are soft yet not at the same time as I stroke them. I feel myself breathe, not knowing I've been holding it in for the whole time. A part of me is afraid, that a wrong move would make him recoil.

"I'm removing these," I say. I don't wait for his consent. My fingers gently go to the bandages around his left eye. Something inside me craves for the process to be faster, and faster still. It longs for the image of his bare face.

The bandages fall apart into my hand. I swallow hard at the vulnerability written there.

"Ahh, now you're no longer that gloomy and threatening commander," I joke half-heartedly.

"What are you saying?" He frowns at me. A chuckle suddenly bubbles up my throat at the look on his face. When it fades away the certain pebble resumes its position inside my ribs.

His eye trails along the movement of my finger on his cheek. I stroke his left eyelid, silently mourning the absence. "How did you obtain this wound?"

I might have imagined it, but a shadow falls over his eye when he answers. "A past fight."

"What made you...start all of this?"

"Am I being interrogated now?" he says, a slight mirth at the corner of his lips.

I flush at the sudden eye contact. "Well-no," I stumble, "I simply want to know about you."

"What do you intend to do with the knowledge?" He's being quite chatty this time.

I purse my lips. "Keep it."

His gaze shifts from my face. I don't take my hand away from his, daring him to remove it like he did that time. His skin is warm against my icicle fingers. I feel each movement of the words when he speaks. "I don't know what you're here for, but nothing good can come out of knowing about a criminal, is there?"

My thumb twitches. "If you truly live up to that name, I wouldn't still be standing here after the countless chances that you could take to finish me." I search his face. "Why didn't you?"

I know I'm pushing my luck. But that was the closest I could go to know the gnawing question that lingers at the back of my head. The silence stretches on just as daylight begins to dim.

"You don't trust me, yet you don't find me threatening as well. I don't know why you allow me to be here, yet I think you don't quite understand just the same," I mutter. "More than anything right now," my voice cracks on each word, "I want to understand you."

I force back the rest of things down. Let the unspoken remain as they are. Because I think I have the answer that I've been dreading to know. I've seen the look in his eye. Relief floods my stomach.

I withdraw my hand from him and reach for the towel on the floor. It has slipped down without much of my notice earlier.

"I'll bring some tea," I say, moving to the door. "You'll catch a cold if you don't change." Shinsuke looks down at his wet robe. I strain to maintain a neutral face when he looks at me, and step hurriedly out.

At the kitchen I prepare tea in a daze. The chef speaks something in which I respond with a quick smile and pour the content of the kettle into a ceramic mug. Then I'm back standing before Shinsuke's room just as fast as I left.

The tea reminds me of my first assignment of serving him, and how my short-lived reverie was smothered by the reality of his threat. It feels so long ago, and yet I can still feel the malice in his voice vibrating through my body. The only difference between now and then is perhaps I've become an complete masochist for wanting to reach for a rose grown on spikes.

Even if I bleed I still have a little more time to bleed for trying.

I enter for the second time. My rose has changed to a pink anemone that ironically radiates a delicacy that he does not really possess. Shinsuke stands by the window, watching as the rain gradually subsides. The unguardedness that hugs his frame makes me set tea tray down a little too loud.

"Here, drink it while it's still warm," I tell him. I remain kneeling on the floor. The contact of the half-wet hem of my yukata to my legs causing me to feel an extra chill. "Are you planning on another mission soon?" I ask quietly.

He responds a minute late. "What of it?"

The image of him lying still in the medical room comes to mind. I speak with a tightness. "It's my own selfish want, but I wish you wouldn't lose yourself entirely to any battle. Fight if you want, for whatever reason you have, and slip into more comas if you must. But you must not die just yet."

He scoffs to the window. "What kind of advice is that?"

I smile to his back. "My kind of advice."

My body starts to move on its own accord. My feet carry me to where he is, and my arms move around his body and bring it to close mine. "I'm sorry," I whisper to his back when he startles, "but let me stay like this for a moment."

He smells faintly of rain and sea. Warmth emanates from his body to mine like a hand reaching for the cold vacancy in my heart. I spread my fingers over his abdomen, trying to cope with the want of having him in my grip. I feel him tensing, and I feel myself unraveling.

"The moon is beautiful tonight," I utter, gazing up to the night sky. The clouds have cleared and a full moon illuminates us in its yellow glow. He looks at it as well. My vision blurs. Everything else sinks until the only real thing in this moment is his solidness in my arms.

Moisture streams down my face. "It would be lovely if I can see it with you again someday," I croak. This ephemeral moments will last as a most beautiful memory etched to my heart.

"Thank you," I whisper, backing away, "and goodnight."

He turns to me. A teary view of a heart-wrenching expression is our final exchange as I turn around and leave.

And when I shut the door it's like I'm shutting my heart to never-ending moonless night.