Asylum

The Batman of Yokohama

I bite my lip, trying to find something comforting to say. I decide to stop trying to search the skyline for answers and just tell her what I always think when she talks about her scars, or whenever she lets one slip out from beneath her clothing and I catch sight of it before she covers it up. Maybe it's the new air making me crazy or those chili cheese dogs making me pay, but I spill my verbal guts out. "If I could see every scar, I would count them and tell you how much beauty I find in them. For every mark on your skin there's another reason I can't help but – " Don't say the L-word, Leo, I tell myself. Not yet. "But to find you stronger and more amazing than I already thought you were. I love all your blemishes because they're a part of you, and there's not a thing about you that I can remotely dislike."

My words suspend in the air, teetering on my nerves, which are all heightened and tuned with anxiety? Did I say the right thing? Did I only make matters worse? Why are her eyes getting glassy with tears? Why is her lower lip trembling? Why can't I bring myself to just admit how I feel?

"I've never heard it like that," Sarah softly says, shifting in her seat. She blinks back those tears and manages a weak smile. "Thank you."

Do it, Leo. Hold her hand, give her a hug, tell her how you feel – something. Gritting my teeth, I tentatively reach my hand out and grasp hers, trying to act nonchalant even though I'm screaming on the inside. Sweetly, Sarah smiles back at me, her glossed lips glittering under the colors of the Ferris Wheel. I can tell she assumes my hand is for moral, friendly support of an ancient companion – not as a gesture of romanticism. But that's okay. If she needs support more than a subtle act of love, then that's what I'll give her. Until she's ready to hear me out and be able to take the time to assess my confession, then I'll wait.

Our cart makes it to the bottom and Sarah stands, letting go of my hand. Without her tiny, porcelain hand, my palm feels cold. We exit the wheel and pass the line of dozens of people and trek to the city, where Sarah wants to snap photos of people with the oddest features and psychedelically hued hair. She's wants to challenge herself with her paintings.

We stop at a vendor and use Ren's medallion to get some free meat-on-a-stick, which is a nice change from meat-in-a-bun. Sarah wants to take my picture, and though I hate how I look, I pose because she wants me to. "You're so cheesy," she teases, saddling up beside me and showing me the picture. "I love how, even though it's so late, there are hundreds of people here."

"Yeah," I agree, looking at all these heads and wondering what secrets lie in them – at the information I could pry out just for giggles, if only my power wasn't so freaking limited. Ugh, that fiasco at the airport was so humiliating... Something in the corner of the picture, behind my head, catches my eye. "Hey, what's that?" I ask, pointing at the spot.

Sarah furrows her brows and narrows her eyes. Easily, she tiny fingers toggle the zoom mechanism and her head snaps up. "Looks like some kind of scuffle," she alerts, searching the buildings. I look at the pic again, finally making out what's happening. A man with some kind of bag is sprinting away, looking terrified, while another man pursues him with such a determined expression it reminds me of Elektra. I did not want to think of Elektra on my kinda-date with Sarah. "We should help them," she urges. Also, did not want to play vigilante on my kinda-date, either.

But because she's already dashing to the scene, I mentally sigh and grumble, "Fine." My feet slam against the pavement, and because the only time I ever run is when Asylum is after me, I find myself casting frequent glances behind my shoulder. It's a shame such a habit has formed, but I don't have too much time to dwell on it, considering I need to focus on following a 5'5" girl who is light as a feather in this sea of people. Barely, I can make out her cream-colored hair. I follow.