Up in Flames

She had loved Ikebukuro. But Ikebukuro didn't love anyone back. What the city loved most was to take what it could before spitting you out, alone and afraid, without a single soul to turn to.

Chouko Akiyama had greeted that bright Tuesday morning with a wide grin. Slinging her bag full of supplies and lesson plans over her shoulder, she announced that she would be skipping breakfast again, much to the chagrin of Taniko Maki, a concerned scowl waxing across the wrinkled face of the matron of the house she had been so warmly welcomed into. She chastised Chouko fondly as the girl breezed by her, a cheerful spring in her step as she hurried to the door.

"Maki-san." Her lilting laughter met the elderly woman's ears, urging a smile to tug at the corner of her lips. "You shouldn't worry so. If I stay even a minute longer, I'll be late. I have a very important tutoring session before class this morning."

Waving a goodbye, she slipped out of the house before Taniko could reply, leaving her to shake her head and gather up the dishes she had set out at the girl's place.

Chouko practically skipped up the street, her bag bouncing against her hip as she went. She was lost in thought, about the tutoring session, her lesson plans, the staff meeting. Her mind whirled, going miles a minute as she crossed the busy intersection and strolling along past storefront after storefront. She stopped for only a moment, to glance through the window of one of the shops, studying a peculiar piece of pottery that was housed front and center.

In that moment, a hand encircled her right wrist while another took rough purchase over her mouth, fingernails digging into her cheeks when she let out a scream. Before she could move her left hand to her bag, she was yanked backwards, the back of her head colliding with the chest of her assailant.

"You're going to do exactly as I say, if you enjoy breathing."

The voice was mid-pitched and sarcastic in tone, a laugh punctuating the end of the sentence. Attempting to shake her head, she realized she had been holding her breath and gasped inward. The hand over her mouth tightened and her wrist was released as an arm snaked around her neck.

Is no one going to stop this? Her eyes widened in fear as she watched the small sea of early morning commuters pass by through the reflection of the window, heads down, hands brought to faces.

No one stopped. No one batted an eye. Tears of helplessness began to spill from her eyes as the figure holding her captive chuckled darkly before stepping backwards and pulling her with him into the alley beside the shop.

_____

Shizuo Heiwajima had had an extremely long night. It wasn't unusual for him to be stuck at the bar where he was employed, assisting with clean up into the wee hours of the morning. However, 8A.M. was farther into overtime territory than he had ever travelled.

His white shirt was stained with the remains of a beer that had been thrown on him by a patron he had had to bounce from the establishment after the man had proven to be a sloppy drunk fond of groping. The smell lingered and assaulted his nose, even in the fresh morning air, causing his stomach to turn slightly. He made a mental note to always bring along a spare shirt.

A long yawn escaped his lips as he folded his hands behind his back and extended his arms, stretching his sore shoulders and rolling his neck side to side as he walked. Thoughts of a shower and his bed teased their way around his brain as he shuffled along, the crowd of commuters becoming more dense the longer he walked.

He gave very little thought to the bodies that occasionally jostled him as they passed. Such was life in a big city. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he tried to take up the least amount of space on the sidewalk, slouching a bit as he wormed his way through in the opposite direction of most of the people around him.

When the pottery shop finally fell into his line of sight, he let out a sigh of relief. Only five more minutes of walking and he would finally be home.

As he got closer, soft, disoriented groans met his ears and he stopped dead, his blood going cold as he turned to the right and trained his eyes at the alleyway beside the pottery shop, the direction the groans were coming from. Initially, he only saw the trash cans beside the building, but the groans continued. Swallowing thickly, he willed himself forward, scanning the entrance.

His heart hit the pavement when his eyes happened to see a hand, outstretched and delicate, sticking just out of the alleyway, between the wall and the garbage cans.

_____

Why are you so averse to the idea of going back to therapy?

Text illuminated against the bright background of the screen of Celty's phone as she held it up to Shizuo's face. Inhaling sharply through his teeth before exhaling in a snort, he shot an unamused glance at the mute, leather clad figure walking beside him.

"Why would I go back? Supposedly I'm 'cured'. Can't fix the same shit twice." Shrugging and shaking his head, he came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring across the street at a vacant storefront.

A blue and yellow motorcycle helmet tilted to the left quizzically as Celty followed his gaze, the dark visor on the helmet glinting as the light from a nearby streetlamp caught it. Unsure of what he was so interested in, she turned back to him, waiting for him to speak or move on.

The look on his face told her there was a solid chance he had forgotten about doing either of those things. His nostrils were flared and his eyes narrow, flashing with painful recognition. The line of his jaw shifted back and forth slightly, a clear sign he was grinding his teeth in anger.

Her fingers typed out a hasty message, which she shoved in his face as quickly as possible.

Hey, what's wrong? You're getting a little intense over there.

Brown eyes widened as he registered the phone in front of his face and the words displayed on the screen. Giving her a halfhearted grin, he turned to move on up the sidewalk.

"I'm fine. Don't go worrying about it."

Shoulders slumping in annoyance, she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his white shirt, tugging it meaningfully. He stopped and turned back to her just in time for her to finish another mesage.

You aren't fine. You're seeing... ghosts. Visions. Whatever you want to call them. You're losing sleep, losing weight, missing work, and Tom mentioned something about you purchasing documents? Please tell me you didn't go where I think you did to obtain those.

I know you were never able to shake the nightmares. But you're seeing these things constantly. At least when you were going to therapy, it wasn't your entire life and I just think that it would do you some good. You should worry about your health more. I certainly do.

Shizuo reached out and grasped Celty's shoulders gently, noting that they were trembling from how furious she was with him. He shook his head, smiling at her as genuinely as he could muster, putting all of his energy into a cheerful facade in an attempt to reassure and calm his friend.

"I mean it, Celty. I'm fine. Don't worry about me. It's not worth it, not by a long shot."

_____

Just how much sadness were you hiding? 
Just how many thoughts did you lock up in your heart?