Kido's guarded and Kano's perceptive, and that's the way it's always been—he sees right through her, and she lets him in if the risk factor allows for it. Over the next month, things are a little different. Kido is well aware that she's acting strangely around Kano, and so it's almost insulting that he doesn't notice a thing. There's a distraction.

Whatever it is, he's wrapped up in it something fierce.

Kido considers the great injustice of their relationship: if Kano wants to know what she's thinking, he need only look long enough to figure it out on his own. If that doesn't work, then sooner or later through her own damned weakness, she spills her hideous, quivering guts out to him to pick at—stupid, stupid.

Inversely, Kano is esoteric territory. She doesn't have his instant insight—she's the blindfolded of the blindfold gang, she thinks grimly— and Kano never, ever, ever bares himself to her. It hurts. It hurts. She's the leeching party, the needy half, and he's been playing her since day one. The futility of it all leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

But damn it, cutting Kano out of her life, tumorous though he may seem at the time, is not an option. Not this far in. Not ever.

For all of June, she pitches glares at him behind his back. They're hurt, mostly. He acts just the same as normal, but with markedly less interest in her affairs, and funny that's so, since her affairs that month center around consummate liar, insensitive bastard Shuuya Kano. He'd play at flattery for it, she's sure. And isn't that the problem? She only knows what he'd play at. She knows his fake faces and his indifferent veneers and veils real well, but whatever lies behind is so unfairly unavailable. Literally unavailable.

She feels like she can't turn to him, can't say a thing, and so she deals with it all on her own while he does whatever. That's the main difference. She's clipped in her dealings with him, but he doesn't seem to mind. He looks out the window or leaves the apartment, and Kido sits and regrets in his absence, regrets this useless attachment and the way that he is and her own shortcomings.

And she doesn't strike him even once for weeks, doesn't touch him at all. He already feels like a ghost, with the way he comes and goes.

She's never able to catch him, though.

She takes to the task with the kind of seriousness reserved for real missions, and feels like she's tailing a stranger with five separate criminal convictions. Kano has that kind of smile sometimes. But he's too clever to get convicted, really. And too clever to get caught.

And as far as she could tell, slouching against his door or peeking into the alleyway adjacent to his room or into his room itself, he doesn't leave HQ in the dead of night again. She does a lot of thinking about this.

Was it only a one time thing? He didn't seem remotely close to broaching the subject with her of his own volition. She has no means to coerce him into telling the truth, and no chance of finding it if she doesn't catch him in the act. It does occur to her to wonder if her suspicions are silly, if she's reading too much into this. If she's simply having problems letting go. It's incensing. These days, Kano has been little else but.

Still, she doesn't give up just yet.

(0)(0)(0)

"Say, Kido," Kano says, one foot over the kitchen tile. Kido gives him a look that roughly translates to take your piquant greetings and shove it. She's tired, and outside of her regular exasperation, additionally a bit sour about Kano's excess of energy, his swinging stride and perennial grin—but then, if he was tired too, she'd never know it.

She mulls this over, sways a bit, softens up. "Yeah?"

"Are you unhappy?"

It's odd, because she hadn't been expecting this from him at all. Lategame concern, unwelcome and unwanted. The wooden spoon and the plot thud neatly over the stove, her fingers slack around the handles. It's odd, because she knows the answer right away, and the answer is no answer at all:

"Are you unhappy?"

She doesn't dare turn. (Looking at Kano, she's learned, is solid detriment in every way. It's better to listen. She does her best, she really does her best. )

"Mmm, I wonder." His voice is traceless, so smooth it's grating. "Well! Don't think I haven't noticed. What's the problem that's eating you so bad, Kido?"

"I wonder."

"Man, you steal all my moves," he laughs, stilling by the cabinets, not looking at her either.

"Are you worried?"

"About unoriginality?"

"About us. Me."

"Always."

A pause.

"No lie."

She has to wonder. Because if that were the case, he'd tell her the whole story.

"Hn." She walks right by him, sets dinner down, and leaves. Asking questions gets her nowhere; she'll make it the same for him.

That's the night he leaves again.

(0)(0)(0)

Kano, leisurely and wily, is too congruous with this part of town, Kido thinks. He's a chameleon as much as he is a monkey, as much as he is a lionhearted fool.

She keeps her head down and her steps low, a distance steady even though he wouldn't see a thing if he turned (and he doesn't). He walks with a hop-skip and bounce and it is sickening to watch. Her throat gets tight when she thinks about what is at the other end of the journey, but her pace doesn't hitch even once. She can't stop thinking no secrets between us, no secrets between us, an indelible notion. She can't remember its origin—certainly, it wasn't anything they'd ever agreed on.

And usually Kido lets him have his space, lets him walk his ways and move irregularly off the board. She doesn't police him on any given day, and yet here she is in a shadow of great embarrassment, tracking him through the unmistakably sketchy parts of town. He'll never have to know if she doesn't deem it necessary. But then she'll be keeping her own secrets, won't she? It's the same as saying, "I don't trust you."

Trust: that was what they had agreed on. From every pinky promise to every plan. Nights when she needed him and she could trust him to be there, to make something deep inside of her sufferable again.

But in the end, what has she ever done for that boy in comparison? Even now, she feels she may be crossing a line.

(That's merely consideration, not hesitation. She'd track him across the city if she had to. She has to catch him. Has to know. If she can't trust him anymore, she'll… )

She halts, because he has turned the telling corner, and Kido knows where he's been going all at once. It doesn't make sense, though, but if he slips out of her sight while she's puzzling it out, she'll never forgive herself. She walks after him with a jump start, pace quickened and distance mitigated.

This neighborhood- if it can be called that—brings back spoiled, ugly memories. It makes Kido uneasy. Her chest clenches, and she grips it as she hurries along.

In a few minutes, he'll prove her right and he'll prove her wrong and he'll confuse her utterly. Not unlike any other day. She can at least trust him to do that.

After Ayano's death, which doesn't feel like yesterday by now, but doesn't feel like some distant nightmare either, she, Seto, and Kano left the Tateyamas, or what remained of them—a sad oji-san whom they'd only be burdens to. They left school, too, because what was the use in schooling? Their grades were average or worse, and their friends were bubbly and indifferent, and in the end they only had each other.

This impulse, half made of grief and a mistaken view of self-sufficiency, made them homeless. Having nowhere else to go, nowhere else they wanted to go, they passed a few months in an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of town, a dead district. There were cold nights, and nights where they went hungry. They would have gotten caught a few times if not for Kido's supernatural abilities, but then, she was ill-suited to life as a squatter.

Some nights, Seto left to stay with his "imaginary friend" in the forest, who turned out to not be imaginary—Kido and Kano, despite their difficulties, still had too much pride to impose on a darling girl like Mary. Those were the nights they started sleeping together, alone, for necessity: huddling for warmth, then speaking secret thoughts. Back then, he wouldn't let her be scared, not about the past, and not about the future.

Seto took the more proactive route and got a job. Then another. And another. Following his example, Kano started working in underground circles, but he always came back perfectly fine with a weighty income, so with a watchful eye on him as caution, Kido and Seto accepted it.

A sad story with a happy ending: Months of work, and Kano slipping under child labor laws, allowed them to leave behind a hard-going stint of homelessness, and that cold abandoned warehouse with it.

But following Kano's trail, Kido finds herself at the gaping doorway there once again. It's even more rickety and decrepit; the paint scraped, the dust overpowering. It is a hot night, and a bad night for discovery, Kido decides, stilling at the doorway as Kano waltzes in like it is natural. The space is illuminated by the starlight and moonbeams, filtering in through those holes in the ceiling. More holes than she remembers.

Filled with an unstoppable fascination now, she watches in silence, tucking her chin into her turtleneck and focusing her eyes in the light. Kano—what is he up to here?
It'd be a pretty terrible place to meet up with a girl. Oh, she's disgruntled with herself for even thinking of that—

Past his figure, she spots them, on the walls:

Graffiti.

She doesn't think for a second that he is cleaning them up; they are obnoxious, noisy, boistering, much his style. She squints to read, though the dim light and the artistic liberties he took with the characters make it a little difficult.

She's surprised at the artistry, the angry vibrance, the neat finish. When had he even learned to do this so well? As for the words depicted…

"Hide And Seek" "Liar" "Deception" "Sleep Terrors" (Thrice, sprawled on the wall) "Maddening" "Secret" "Snake Eyed" "This Maddening Heat" "You've Been Deceived!"

And those are only the ones she can see by starlight in this expansive, empty place.

Clearly, there is something else going on behind the scenes, even in this place where Kano had laid himself bare.

But even Kido, in all her relentlessness, decides it is enough for one night. It's never really a matter of trust on her side, but rather on his.
Instead of crawling into bed with her when things became difficult, did he come here and vandalize his woes away? Her mouth opens, closes, dry as sand in the lot.

"That's quite a loud diary," she speaks, neutral and loud enough for her voice to ring. He straightens out slowly, paint can in hand—he hid them here, she supposes, and— and she stares. She can only see the contours of his hoodie, as if he's not really there—a phantom.

When he turns, she sees his smile first, and she knows that's the intent and she clenches her teeth and her hands at the thought of it.

But, mournful, doleful, embittered, he says: "Could you expect anything else from me?"

And she lets go.

"You're not upset with me?" she asks stiffly, getting straight to it. He shakes his head vigorously.

"I almost figured you'd follow me one of these days." Proud, and oddly soft: "I know you, Kido."

That's genuine fondness. Kido doesn't have the means or the reason to question it.

"About that," she says, stepping out from the shadows. "You didn't want to mention that you're an artist?"

"This? This isn't art," Kano laughs, almost bashful, and spreads a hand in front of his mouth to hide the smile the old-fashioned way, as if it's wrong.

"I like it better than your usual antics," she hums, feeling a comfortable wonder at the same time she feels awkwardness. Because they're being open, and she doesn't want to stop, but she doesn't know how to proceed, where to steer discourse constructed of two-sided truths. It's one thing to scream out frustrations or weep out fears, it's another to glance casually inside the rotting depths of someone, or witness a secret unknown.

Kano shrugs and smiles, not pretending to misunderstand. "Lying isn't illegal," he points out, blithe and beaming, like he appreciates something. It emboldens Kido a bit, not that she needs it.

"Don't defend it," she sighs, though it can't be helped.

"I'm only defending myself," he mirrors her sigh, shakes the paint can, holds up a finger. "You know what else is illegal?"

"Violence?"

"Close! Stalking. Both are things that you do now, so let's say we're even?"

She glares at him and he turns away, scoping out the empty space, idly brushing some dust off the surface.

"You're not going to ask anything?" he asks suddenly, still. She thinks about this.

"Only... am I allowed to watch?"

They both stand like statues for a moment, and Kido finds all well with silence for as long as it lasts (which isn't very long, before Kano…)

"Ahh, Kido, not that I don't cherish our time together, but… what are you doing here?"

His eye glints; her mouth twitches.

"Is that a serious face you're showing me?" she asks quietly, as if she can't expend the extra effort, and it's just as wry a smile she makes, joyless and uneasy.

"Who's to say?" he responds, being difficult. "So, where did I slip up?"

"September 4th, at 2 a.m.," Kido recites. "I came into your room, and you weren't there. I worried, you moron."

He scratches his head and his hand lingers—he brings it down as he curls with laughter. It's inappropriate, Kido thinks, it's not a laughing matter.

"That's what had you upset?" he asks, and she lowers her eyes. "Kido!"

"It upset me that I couldn't just ask you," she bites out, breath filtered out steady in a frustrated rush. "It upset me that I knew you would have lied to me about it."

"Maybe I wouldn't have."

"Is that the truth?"

"No. See, you get me."

She feels like it's anything but. "The only thing I want to 'get' is you in a headlock."

But even now, she's relieved, she's so relieved she's just intruding on his private time. She doesn't want to leave him be, though. It's like she's found someone who's been away a long time—just turning on her heels and walking away would be unthinkable.

"Maybe when I come back. Oh, come on, you know the way home. Shoo, shoo, Kido~"

"I needed you." She hopes that's loud enough. She hopes he cares enough. If he's looking at her now, she can't see, she doesn't want to. Looking at Kano is...

"You needed me?"

Solid detriment. In every way.

Shrugging, she raises her gaze the minutest inch, sizes him up with restraint and reserve.

"More or less."

What a mild way of putting something so real. Elaboration won't follow, and Kano, pensive and morose, and in this instant, the farthest thing from infuriating-

"Then I really feel sorry for you."

With a gentleness, uncertain tenderness, a sweet and slow caution... "Why's that?"

His hands raise like he's directing an orchestra, but then there's nothing but falling dust and starlight and silence, the bursts of screaming color splattering the walls. His white grin is clear, and it is so clearly without pride, so empty and so hollow, like all the hues have spilled out from his face to sharpen his vandalism in all its crooked curves and wretched secret meanings. "Do I look like I'm in a position to be needed?"

Viscerally, she thinks, cowardice. Yet here it is, my harsh truth. And she pities him, in her round-about and flawed way, she really pities him so much.