Ultima Ratio

Chapter 61: The Fallout

On the other side of the bar counter was the twin's childhood dining table, its body just as pristine as the kitchen. The siblings had gone through painstaking efforts to move the round koa table to the base, taking great care to wrap each of the intricately carved legs in protective padding. Every few months, Kekoa would dedicate time to polish it, and his efforts were visible in its radiant luster.

In contrast, the living room was in mild disarray, but that was normal. Their couch still looked like it did during their last movie night, with blankets and pillows piled on the cushions to form a cozy burrow they would all huddle within. Makana enjoyed old action movies, Kekoa enjoyed providing scathing commentary just to cause discourse, and Akira enjoyed the popcorn.

In front of the couch was Akira's kotatsu, along with a maroon and white futon that spanned its height and extended onto the floor. Kekoa used it the most, and he would lie under the heated surface while complaining that he too needed to know what it was like to feel the warmth of a lover.

Nothing had changed, but that's what felt so wrong. Because Akira knew nothing would be the same again.

She didn't realize when she started to stumble across the apartment towards their bedrooms, not until her left shoulder careened into a doorway, her body still compensating for a weight that was no longer there. The impact startled her back into reality, but at the sight of her new surroundings, she yearned to retreat back into a blind daze.

Kekoa's room looked as if he had only stepped out for a minute, as if he just left to pick up a carton of eggs from the commissary. His bed hugged the opposite corner from the door, its headboard partially overlapping the bright window. It remained stubbornly unmade with the vibrant red and yellow comforter pushed to the side of the bed and dragging on the floor, making way for a ray of sunlight to illuminate the bold blue sheets.

To the left of the door was his dresser. Its top was covered with framed pictures of his family and friends, interspersed with various trinkets. Along the right adjacent wall were shelves of small rocks, each pebble labeled with its place of origin on a tiny paper. Next to the shelving was his closet, the door left wide open to display his neatly hanging clothes in a spectrum of colors.

Akira drifted to the rocks. She remembered the moments when Kekoa would find the perfect stone in the middle of missions. His face would glow as he delicately turned the winning pebble between the fingers of his powerful hands, and he would carefully place it in his uniform pocket above his heart, giving it a gentle pat before continuing with his work. The collection ended on the second lowest shelf; a pen and tiny slips of paper waited for the next addition that would never come.

She wandered over to the foot of his bed, wobbling slightly as she retrieved a garment that had fallen off the footboard. The olive green bomber jacket was worn from frequent use, but still remained in excellent condition with no stains or loose stitching. It still smelled like him.

Her eyes lifted to the photos. All of them were printed and framed, a surprising attribute for anyone but Kekoa. About half were from his childhood, most showing his family and friends while a few displayed lush green mountains and vibrant rainbows. The rest were more recent, each with the subjects dressed in military uniforms or paraphernalia and making silly poses to the camera. Some people would think the photos had nothing in common; they wouldn't know each picture was of something Kekoa wanted to protect.

The latest one had Akira in it, along with the other members of their unit, but she didn't initially remember when it was taken. It took her a while to recall the day: it was about four months ago, and they had just returned from a mission that was firmly deemed impossible by Major Roth. Yet somehow, they managed to capture a slippery Concordian spy hiding out in the icy plains of Greenland, too close for comfort to the tense nation of Québécois. When they returned victorious, Akira had been so high on adrenaline that she barely remembered when a base photographer asked them to gather for a commemorative picture. Evidently, Kekoa was different. And now, he was gone.