Chapter 11 – Small Spaces
Xavier sat near the infirmary steps, sketchbook balanced on his knee. His pencil moved slowly, more rhythm than focus. The page bore fragments—half a flower, part of a railing, something that might've been a wing. His eyes were drawn but distant, the soft gray sky casting pale light over the quiet courtyard.
Across the stones, a passing attendant slowed.
"How far is the city?" Xavier asked, without looking up.
The man blinked. "Tokyo proper? Maybe two hours by train."
"Walking?"
A pause.
"You're not cleared to leave the grounds," he said gently. "Not without escort. Sorry. Orders."
Xavier nodded, lips pressed tight. The pencil stopped. The man moved on.
He didn't sigh or frown, just closed the sketchbook carefully, as if burying something.
"Sketching flowers again?" came a familiar voice.
Keiko leaned against the infirmary doorway, arms crossed, smirking slightly. She was still in her field medic clothes—scrubs, a worn coat, fingerless gloves that made her look more brawler than nurse.
"You stalking me?" he said quietly.
"I prefer 'frequent witness to emotional brooding.'" She pushed off the wall and held up a small paper bag. "Lunch. And a favor."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't move.
"You're coming with me to the supply wing," she added. "Unless you plan to sit here and sketch moody petals all afternoon."
"…Moody petals," he muttered.
"Yep. Come on, it's a big day—we're organizing dusty boxes and probably tripping over a dead rat."
She walked ahead without waiting, confident he'd follow. He did.
—
The supply wing sat on the far side of the main building, a squat structure that smelled like old metal and mildew. Inside, the walls were lined with rusted lockers, sealed crates, and shelves that hadn't seen order since the last decade.
Keiko tossed him a mask. "For the mold."
He put it on without a word.
They worked in relative silence at first—dragging out old boxes, checking labels, sorting supplies. She muttered curses under her breath as she cataloged rows of herbal wraps and low-grade charm tags.
At one point, she knelt to move a case of surgical gauze and banged her elbow. Hard.
"Ow—damn it," she hissed. "That's it. I quit."
"You say that every time you bruise," Xavier said.
"Because I mean it every time."
He smirked, just slightly. It didn't last long, but it was real.
"You've been quiet," she said a few minutes later, not looking at him. "Quieter than usual, I mean."
"I'm tired," he said.
She didn't believe that was the whole answer. But she didn't push.
They worked until the crates were stacked and the shelves looked less chaotic. Dust clung to both of them like old regrets. Keiko plopped down on an overturned box and patted the spot next to her.
He sat without protest.
She pulled two bento boxes from her bag and handed him one.
"It's cold," she warned. "And not particularly good. But it's food."
He opened it and stared at the rice and pickled vegetables inside. "Thanks."
For a while, they ate in silence. No tension. Just quiet.
"I miss American food," he said eventually.
Keiko tilted her head. "Like what?"
"Cornbread. Real fries. Fried chicken that doesn't taste… polite."
She laughed. "What does that even mean?"
He shrugged. "Japanese food tastes like it's trying to apologize. American food doesn't care if it kills you."
"Maybe that's why our hospitals are full."
"Maybe."
She picked up a small piece of fish with her chopsticks, thoughtful. "Do you ever think about going home?"
His answer came slow. "All the time."
"But you don't know how."
"…No."
They let that settle.
"My brother got sick once," she said. "When I was six. We were in Okinawa, and I thought he was dying. No one told me anything. Everyone just acted like I was too young to understand. A nurse gave me a piece of candy and said nothing. It was the first time anyone treated me like I wasn't stupid."
Xavier glanced at her.
"I've carried candy ever since," she added, pulling a wrapped piece from her coat pocket and setting it beside his bento. "For lost causes and weirdos."
He smiled—faint, but present.
"Which one am I?"
She grinned. "Too soon to say."
—
When they stood to leave, neither noticed the faint symbol etched into the metal of the crate beneath them. A flower, barely visible, shimmered in a pattern that matched the petals on Xavier's arm.
Something had been listening.
And it remembered.