Ryo flopped onto the bed in his hotel room, shading his eyes with one forearm. The flight had been long and uncomfortable, even from his seat in first class. He didn’t like flying. Found it tedious and impossible to sit unmoving for such long periods of time. He wondered if it had always been like that for him.
Following that particular train of thoughts, he pulled the folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. The concierge had been extremely helpful in providing him with an address and directions to Kitten’s House. She had offered to drive him there herself after her shift, had offered to show him around the city, had offered more. And although she was so very lovely and soft and willing, he politely turned her down. He was fairly certain that he no longer wanted that kind of beauty and softness.
Sitting up, he reached for his cigarettes and lighter. With a lit cigarette dangling from his between his lips, he rummaged around in his carry-on bag for his sketchbook and colored pencils and leaned back against the pillows, thumbing through the latest of the drawings.
Last night’s dream had been far more vivid than any he had yet to have. He knew it was a true memory. Ryo had woken up immediately afterwards, the details clear in his mind. He had sketched well into the early hours of morning.
He had locations he couldn’t place; faces he couldn’t name. Two other men to be precise, both younger than he, by the looks of each of the drawings. Another redhead, but female this time and he knew instinctively that this wasn’t the elusive Aya either. Flipping to another page, he paused, studying the three-quarters view of a man’s face. He was beautiful, breathtakingly so in Ryo’s opinion, and appeared to be favoring someone with a faint smile. A rare treat, Ryo suddenly knew, and it had been for him. At one time, the man in the picture had smiled at him.
He fumbled for his pencils, intent on giving color to the black and white image. He worked without thought, letting inspiration or memory or both guide him. The eyes took on a striking amethyst hue and his hair a crimson cast. The skin remained pale, as if he rarely saw the sun. His coloring was quite un-Japanese, but Ryo was absolutely certain the man was. Unlike himself, whose European ancestry was evident not only the coloring of eye and hair, but in facial and body structure.
Aya.
Yes, he was sure of it at last. This was Aya. His Aya. Someone who had meant everything to whomever Ryo had been before, but yet who hadn’t come back to claim him after the accident that cost him his memories. Thinking about it gave him a headache – a common occurrence these days and one the doctor said was nothing to worry about. Then again, this was the same doctor who told him he’d never remember who he had once been.
Setting down the pad and pencils and crushing out the cigarette, Ryo pulled out the bottle of pain reliever from his bag and slid off the bed. He fetched a bottle of water from the mini-frig and opened it, quickly popping the pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a long swallow of the cool liquid. Sitting back down on the bed, he rubbed at his temples and tried to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Perhaps Aya was dead, a victim of the same explosion that nearly claimed his own life. Perhaps that’s why he’d abandoned Ryo and left him to wake alone and lost in the hospital.
But somehow Ryo knew deep down that Aya wasn’t dead and it hurt. Hurt to think he’d meant nothing to someone he obviously loved. It hurt more than Asuka leaving him, if he was honest with himself. Then there was the question of who sent the flowers. Perhaps his floral benefactor was the reason Aya hadn’t kept in touch. Perhaps he or she knew where he could find Aya. Then again, once he found out who that was, maybe he wouldn’t be so keen to locate Aya again. After all, if he could forget one love, he could have forgotten another.
His head throbbed, reminding him that he needed to stop thinking so hard about the situation. What he needed was to unpack and unwind. He wasn’t due to meet with the clients until tomorrow. Checking his watch and finding it late afternoon, Ryo decided he would do well with a shower and then a walk to one of the nearby pubs.
It didn’t take long to relocate clothing to drawers and closet. Ryo was a light traveler and believed only in bringing necessities. Mostly. There was one item with which he always traveled that most would not consider a necessity. He lifted the katana from its hard-shelled, well-padded traveling case and examined it, running a palm over the hilt in a way that always served to calm and reassure him. This was the one item that belonged to both Ryo and the man he had been before Ryo.
He’d been found with it, clutched in his hand, when they dug him out of the crumbled remains of Koua Academy. No sheath, only the naked blade. When he’d been well enough to try, he quickly discovered he was no swordsman. He knew martial arts to be true, but not the skilled use of a katana. It was not his and until Ryo could find to whom the blade belonged, he insisted on traveling with it. Just in case he should ever meet its owner again. Ryo didn’t know if that owner was Aya, but he thought the chances of the two being related were quite good.
Returning the sword to its case and locking it, Ryo stood it next to the bed and glanced once again at the completed drawing of Aya and the flower shop’s address lying beside it. The concierge had said it wasn’t that far from the hotel. He could easily make a stop at a pub and then wander down to the shop and hopefully find out the name of the person who’d given him the flowers. After he showered and changed.