Lured into the Dragon's Nest (Shouhei)

A certain message had been left to find, hidden inside a pack of broken cigarettes. It was a Memory she had, one of several. They fluttered around her mind like stray butterflies. She caught one every now and again, but she could never tell the order. Or which one was truly important. One thing was for certain. This man, this Shouhei, was at the center of it all.

"Come to the place where the flowers bloom in excess" is what her note had said. As for why she picked this particular place, she couldnt say. Perhaps because she just liked being here. It was beautiful, and she wanted it very much. How much would it cost to own this place, or a place like it, she wondered, idly, walking among the flowers that were still surviving in the coming winter.

She snapped off a small white flower and held it in her palm, crushed it, rolled it up into a small ball of pretty white foliage. Broken, but still beautiful. She faintly wondered what it tasted like, but she found that eating things in public was frowned upon, and had stopped doing it long before this trip.

Mariko wore black tights under a belted plaid skirt. Her dark red boots reached almost to her knees, and matched the red lines of her skirt almost exactly. The jacket she wore was a black and covered much of her skirt, and was open in the front revealing a white blouse. Her chin-length black hair bounce around her as she walked. It was shorter than it had been back in the day, but if he knew her as well as she thought he did, he would recognize her quickly enough when he arrived. If he came at all, that was. What was this creeping nervousness? Was it a result of wanting to see him, or the unknown sentiment that came with it?

Once Shouhei had found that message rolled and hidden inside his pack of broken cigarettes at his dorm room, he had never moved with such purpose in his life.  He sprinted out the door, not even bothering to close and lock it; even his motorcycle helmet was spared as he dashed for his ride, there was no concern for his well-being.  His bike’s tires squealed and burnt rubber as he sped off blisteringly towards Sunlake Palm’s Garden Path.  Darting between traffic at breakneck speeds, he too cared little about being caught by the police.  Speed limit be damned- he had to be there now.

Only one person left messages inside his packs of broken cigarettes.  Only one person wrote tender notes that told him that she loved him more than anything else, and desperately wanted him to quit smoking.  Only one person he loved back more than anything else, and desperately wanted to quit smoking for.  

Mariko Matsuda.

Her name, her face, her voice, her smell, all came rushing back to his mind.  Mariko was all he could think about.  After all they were childhood friends before he could even remember; she was the first person to beat him in a fight.  They were inseparable.  She cared for him when no one their age would.  She brought everything good to him in his life.  She brought music into his life.  She was his reason for everything.  

The problem was that she had died a year ago in a tragic motorcycle accident… that he caused.

Shouhei attended her funeral.  He saw all the loved ones of Mariko look at him with scorn, anger, disgust.  He heard her father tell him that it was all his fault and that it should have been him that died instead.  Every moment and day afterwards Shouhei wished it was him instead.  He had snuffed out what could have been the hottest idol sensation, someone whose kindness and selflessness could have affected hundreds, thousands more than just him.

However now that didn’t matter.  Shouhei had to know who sent him this message.  If it was really Mariko.  Even if she was a ghost, an illusion, a trap by demons, he didn’t care.  He wanted to see her one last time.  He’d give anything to see her again, he’d gladly trade his life for that moment.  After arriving at the Garden Path he spared no time and sprinted madly in search for the person that mattered more than life itself to Shouhei.

Mariko heard the sound of Shouhei's motorcycle first. It brought with it the first signs of nausea. An empty ache in her chest she couldn't quite explain. "Shouhei..." Her voice was soft and he was no where near her yet, but somehow it just slipped out, like a faucet left loose. She tried to steady her breathing, calm her mind and still herself, as she often did. The cold silence right before the kill was important.

In the fragrant silence, her eyes glinted in the moonlight like daggers.

Some voice in her head had told her she was doing this all wrong. She'd been too conspicuous with his friend. He knew she was here and who she was. He may be coming to kill her before she could kill him. She had no way of knowing what he knew. It was...scary. For the first time in a while she was genuinely scared and she wasn't sure what to do about it. She gripped herself, hugging her arms against her body and making herself look small against the tree, and she started humming to herself. It was a melody she couldn't quite remember the words to. It was an american song, she thought. She couldn't remember it's significance, but it always seemed to calm her when she was reminded of the monster she was.

He still wasn't quite there yet. Her voice was soft enough wasn't it? He wouldn't hear her, right? She just needed a moment. Just a moment...

The black haired girl sunk to the ground, knees bent and pressed against herself, just humming lightly. She needed to hum, or else the butterflies wouldn't stop spinning...

Shouhei froze immediately once the sound reached his ears in the empty Garden Path.  That melody, it struck him like thunder, then a storm of nostalgia and memories flooded his mind.  It had to have been her.  It had to be Mariko, humming their song.  He was drawn towards the siren’s song, his feet dragging him towards that sound that brought nothing but pure, unadulterated feelings of love.

Then he saw her.  She was crouched against a tree, humming their song and rocking back and forth.  It really was her- there was no mistaking it.  That face that had been in his thoughts constantly for all of his life.  That voice that had always soothed him.  Whether she had been a ghost, an illusion, or even the real thing, he was staring at her, he was hearing her humming the song that they cherished together and had claimed their own.

Shouhei felt something hot run down his cheeks and his vision getting hazy.  


Was this a dream?  Whether he liked to admit it or not, Mariko Matsuda was dead.  She had been dead for nearly a year.  Was this some trap set up by demons in order to literally rip Take-Minekata’s arms off of him?  Or had his longing to see her after all this time finally eat into him, cause him to go delirious, and hallucinate this entire scenario?  Shouhei cupped his face in his hands, both wiping his tears away and trying to get a grip on reality.


When he opened his eyes again, Mariko was still there.  She was still humming their song.  The song Shouhei had sang to her in his first recital in their first year of high school.  The same song he used to ask her out, to confess the feelings he had felt since they were children.  Before he knew it he was mere steps away from her, so close he could almost touch her.  Hold her again.  He reached out his hand and found his voice coming alive to their song, him singing with all of his heart, wishing she was real, hoping she could hear him.

Shouhei and Mariko's song:

Mariko hadn't noticed Shouhei's approach. She was lost to the world in her confusion, humming a song she had no way of knowing the significance of. When Shouhei started singing, so close and so purposeful, her head snapped up to look at him. The tune died in her throat. It was like an cornered animal staring down the barrel of a hunter's gun; it was a feral and dangerous look. She stood up immediately, scrambling up the trunk of the tree and pressing her back up against it, as if she could meld with the bark to make herself disappear.

But, of course, she didn't disappear. She was still standing there, looking at him. She'd called him out here after all. But now that he was here any plan she might have had was out of reach. Randomly, she imagined herself on a stage for the first time at 9 years old, before she'd dragged Shouhei along to sing with her. She was all alone and all the world - or atleast all those that mattered in her world at the time, were staring at her, expecting something from her. She felt that same tightness in her chest now, as she observed the raw emotion in the way Shouhei was looking at her. It was like a whole crowd of people was expecting something from her and she had no idea what that something was.

Her eyes hardened, relying on the only expression that had become as natural to her as breathing. "Why are you singing? What song is that?" She asked harshly, curious eyes watching him warily. "You...you're Shouhei Kagawa, aren't you? You look older than I remember. Yawagi-san sent me." Surely Shouhei would know the name of the Yakuza man who guided her actions. He was a cleaner for the family she worked for. Presumably, he worked for them too, before coming to this strange city.

But his face was so familiar in it's strangeness. A few scattered puzzle pieces in her mind linked together as she faced him, forming a picture not unlike this one, only the flowers were blooming and...

it shattered again, and she winced, holding her palm against the back of her eyelids, as if it would release the pressure in her mind. "Why..." She pinched her eyes shut. Looking at him was painful. No, she had been looking at him for days, stalking him as he met with friends. Having him looking at her was painful. "Why..."

She was Mariko Matsuda.  But her reaction, her words, her body language, everything was wrong.   Nothing added up and Shouhei’s heart nearly burst at the seams in the midst of everything.  Who was this man she spoke of?  Why was she as bewildered as he was in regards to this?  Slowly, defeated, his hand dropped so as not to provoke her, this stranger that claimed Mariko’s body.

“...Mariko, Mariko Matsuda.  Look at me,” His voice nearly broke as he tried to reach out to her, almost choking on his own words.  Once again he could feel tears run down his face but he continued as firmly as he could, despite how shaky it felt.  

“You said you remember me, butcha don’t remember our song?  You, the woman who taught me how to sing?  The woman who taught me the beauty in music?  The beauty of… love.  Our love.  You’re sayin’ you forgot alla that!?”

Look at him? Didn't he see them? The flashes of light like spears in her mind? In this moment each fractured memory was like a shard of glass. Yet he continued. This was a Bad Idea she should have just killed him when she'd had the myriad chances. Strike him down and be done with it. But at the same time, there was a part of her mind that felt relieved to see him. Their song? Mariko seemed to remember dreams of singing, of wanting to be a singer, but that had all been drowned out and burned to ash by the fire in her veins. This fire that seared her just beneath the skin.

That same fire seethed now as he kept talking. And still those flashes of him persisted. Dragging him along by the arm away from a fight. Ten years old, maybe? Riding behind him on his first bike - which was really just a glorified scooter. That was much much later. They were probably 15 or 16? There was a kiss she could remember now. That one was new. It brought a flush to her cheeks suddenly, and an embarrassed look to her face that he would no doubt remember as she touched her own lips with trembling fingers.

This was why she'd sought him out. She wasn't going to kill him. She wanted to know. She needed to know why his existence was strung through her like the stitching of a book. Why she was unravelling now that she couldn't make sense of it.

Violently, she gripped her head again, not realizing that there were tears coming now. When had she started crying? She sunk to the ground and crouched again, at the foot of the tree. "Stop Stop Stop Stop STOP." She said, and though the words were forceful her voice was soft. "Please. Slow down, it's too much."

It hurt Shouhei almost as much to see Mariko in pain.  That was the last thing he wanted to see, never again did he want to subject her to that.  His heart screamed at him to hold her, console her, tell her everything would be okay.  Right now, however, he thought- not felt- that would be one of the worst things to do.  Mariko had always taught him to think before he felt.  Slowly he sank to his knees, his hands open for her regardless.  

“...We can go as slow as ya like- what’s wrong.  I wanna help you, but you hafta tell me what’s wrong.  Please, Mariko,” he too spoke softly to her, but with a pained expression.

The buzzing in her head was receding a little bit, and she looked at him finally, eyes darting over his form, now that he was this close. Was this what she had been worried about? The nervous, nauseous feeling that she'd felt whenever she'd pictured this meeting? Being so completely at a loss for understanding that she could cry? There was an answer she needed but she couldn't even decide how to pose the question. He was asking her what was wrong, but if he didn't know... suddenly it struck her. "You...don't know? You don't know. You know me, but...you don't know me." She stated as if anyone who wasn't her would understand it. As if the first me and the second me weren't the same person. 'but I am Mariko, aren't I?' it was a deep intrinsic question at the root of her soul. What did it mean to be Mariko?

Ugh, this was getting her nowhere. And...well for now killing Shouhei was definitely something she didn't want to do. It took her a moment to finally respond to him. Her eyes looked to him, then down at herself, then the ground, or the flowers, anywhere really. "Can we go...somewhere more private, please?" She asked finally, regaining some composure. She was back to seeing him as that Shouhei person she was observing. It was easier than trying to dig around in her brain for the answer. "Perhaps I should have just waited for you in your apartment after all." She'd been in there when she'd planted the note, but she had wanted to meet him in a place where he didn't have home field advantage in the event that he was quicker to kill her than the opposite.

At first Mariko’s words made no sense as she looked around with wild eyes, and that immediately sent cause for alarm.   Moments later however her dialogue soon returned to normalcy.  With a deep sigh Shouhei slowly rose back to his feet and wiped away the tears that he had shed throughout this encounter.  He extended a gloved hand to her, while chuckling lightly.

“...Ya sneak into my dorm just to leave a note- I thought I was the guy that used to do that mischievous bullshit,” a gentle smile graced his features as he fondly recalled constantly sneaking into her house via her room window.  “We can go wherever you like.  Ya wanna stop and get some meds for your head on the way?”

Mariko looked at his extended hand for a moment. It wasn't that big of a deal to touch someone. Yet this time...touching him would make him real. It would make all the fluttering nonsense in her head real. It sent a shudder through her at the thought. But she took his hand, and let him help her to her feet. Once she had decided to do it, and started moving, the action was as easy as routine. It scared her a little.

Shouhei couldn’t have dreamed this.  Some otherworldly presence defied the laws of life and death and brought Mariko back to him.  She was real.  An opportunity to hold her hand again caused him to go light headed for a moment as his heart skipped erratic beats.  Now that she was here, alive, but possibly not well, he wouldn’t dare let her go.  If it took him the rest of his life to restore her apparently shattered memory, he would be there for her every step of the way.  

“...All right, just lemme know if the pain flares up again.  And if you got nowhere else to stay, my door’s always open.  Just like yours was for me.”  


With that said the two would leave Sunlake Palms on Shouhei's motorcycle, and back to his dorm.