Title: Access Denied
Chapter: 2/??
Author: evilgeniuskoji
Pairing: Reita/Ruki
Genre: General, Mystery, Scifi-ish
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Summary: AU. Saiko Reality is the hottest new virtual reality simulator. With an in-game experience that questions your reality and theirs, PSC's newest product has establishd a wide branch all over Central Tokyo. Such a large corporation cannot go witout its dark secrets...and as he struggles to remember his past, Ruki finds himself ensnared in the very heart of the problem.
Notes: Thanks to visualcomplex and shii_tan for helping out. You guys were great. ^^

File 01



“Hai, konbanwa, minna-san, and welcome to Mako-rin’s What’s Hot! show! Tonight we have a special new guest with us: author of the popular new novella Distorted Daytime, Ruki-san!”

The crowd gave a smatter of applause, and quite a few of them cheered when the handsome young man smiled quietly with a polite dip of his head. “I’m Ruki.” His pale blonde hair splayed fashionably around a soft, round face, and a pair of dark, rectangular rims.

“Welcome to the show, Ruki-san,” the congenial ‘Mako’ enthused with a shiny lipstick smile. “We’re really glad to have you here! We’ve been receiving countless requests from our viewers to feature you!”

“It’s an honor,” he replied simply. “Thank you.”

“Saa, let’s start off with some questions sent to us from both our viewers and your readers, ne?” The brown-haired hostess dimpled. “First is Misa-chan from Kanagawa prefecture—‘Ruki-san, thank you for writing such a wonderful book. It was very engrossing and the plot immediately drew me in. But I was wondering about the title ‘Distorted Daytime’. That’s English, right? Is there any special meaning behind it?”

“The title refers to the character’s sense of time.” Silver rings glinted off his pale fingers as he laced them neatly over his knee. “As his nightmares and dreams grew more and more frequent, he loses track of night and day. They drive him to insomnia, which completely twisted his sense of night and day, and hallucinations continued to hit his waking moments as well, so his view on reality has been completely twisted. I thought Distorted Daytime would be appropriate.”

“Ah, that leads to our next question quite well—this is Emiko-san from the Kyoto region. She wants to know what inspired the plot for Distorted Daytime, and how you felt about its almost immediate fame.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so successful,” the blonde said. “In fact, I was very surprised to find a publisher at all—I didn’t start writing this with the thought of publishing in mind.”

“Oh? How did it start then?”

“I lost my memory a few years ago…three, in a few weeks. My doctor has been advising me to write down whatever comes to me, anything that seems familiar, and what dreams I remember. Though,” he laughed, “they’re more like nightmares sometime. Anyway, a friend read over one of my notebooks one day and seemed impressed. It was his recommendation that I try writing, he seemed to think I had a talent for it. The next thing I knew…” Ruki shrugged, as if to say that he didn’t quite know what happened either.

“So you suffered from amnesia?” Mako’s eyes were oddly intent. “And the book is based off that and what you’ve remembered?”

“Suffering,” Ruki corrected. “I am still amnesiac. But yes, some parts of the book are based after what I recall loosely.”

“But they’ve not returned yet, your memories?” Mako pressed persistently. Her eyes narrowed. “Surely a good number of them have. It’s been a very long time, hasn’t it?”

The younger man shrugged. “I have almost resigned myself to permanently living without it. Progress has been far too slow for me to be hopeful about it now.”

“I see,” Mako said doubtfully. “Well, we’re out of time and that concludes our show today. Thank you for being with us here today, Ruki-san. Remember, newly released on the shelves is Distorted Daytime. Next, we have Takashima-san’s sake corner—”

The screen went black as he switched the TV off. It was almost too quiet in the room after the noise of the TV, but the silence was immediately interrupted by the shrill of his phone.

Reaching for the phone slowly and deliberately, he answered it with a click. “Yes?”

“Have you seen it?” Mako’s voice was cold, hard, and professional, a great departure from the overly friendly and cheery tone she’d possessed only hours before.

“I did.”

Despite the care he’d taken to not reveal much at all by his words, Mako forged on as if he’d been brimming with anger, losing some of the chill from her voice. It was, nevertheless, still a different person speaking. “It’s him. It must be him. We’ve thought it was a mistake for three years now, but now we know.”

His own voice was mild enough. “You can’t be too sure of that.”

“I am. The book—have you read it?”

A pause. “No.”

“One of the scenes describes the Sky Tower’s innermost chamber. In detail, down to the last inscribed rune and the design on the floor. He must have his memories back.”

He considered this, ignoring the impatient tapping on Mako’s end of the line. Her pride was still sore from the incident three years ago, and it demanded a personal vendetta concluded. Finally, he said, “He must still not know the whole, or he wouldn’t dare tell us so publicly. I doubt he’s regained enough memories to be a threat yet.”

“Perhaps it’s a letter of challenge.”

“I doubt it, but it no longer matters. He must be eliminated before he causes more harm, or fully recovers. The damage from that book has yet to come. There may yet be others who interpreted their clues. Get rid of him.”

“Affirmative. I’ll give the order to the agent.”

“Do that.”

The line went dead.

---

Night was already hanging heavily at his back when Ruki entered his apartment. It was warm and cheery, a pleasant contrast to the chilly air outside, so he hastened to close the door behind him.

Thanks to PSC, he’d been able to live comfortably. After the first initial year, he had been able to land a job with a decent pay as a salesman in a store that did not make his teeth grit. Further cooperation on PSC’s part had secured him a remarkably luxurious apartment the following year, for someone who hadn’t even begun to squeak about court yet. The only condition had been the single roommate.

Kai’s head popped out from the kitchen, and he was wearing his favorite checkered apron again, a ladle in hand. “Ah, okaeri, Ruki,” his roommate greeted him. “I’ve got spaghetti going, and some nice tomato soup.”

Ruki rolled his eyes as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks in the wall. “You’re not my maid or mother, Kai,” he said exasperatedly. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“I know, but it’s no fun cooking for yourself, ne?” Kai returned to the kitchen, and Ruki heard the sounds of the plates being set out. “Do you want mushrooms?”

Ruki made a face. “No.” He sat down, turned on the TV and grimaced again. The very show he’d left barely a few hours ago was playing at the moment.

Kai emerged again, wiping his hands on a ragged wash cloth. Spotting Ruki’s look of distaste as he watched the show on the screen, he laughed with comprehension. “Oh, the interview. How’d it go?”

The younger man shrugged noncommittally. “Alright. The hostess was weird. Kept wondering if I had my memories back, like she was doubting me or something.”

“Ah, well.” Kai shrugged too. “Your book is popular and you’re good-looking enough to attract some attention. Who knows, you might turn into an idol.” He laughed at the speculative expression crossing Ruki’s face.

Later, over dinner, he said, “You haven’t even read my book, have you?”

Kai instantly looked guilty. “Sorry. I did get a copy, but—”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted. “You were too busy and was planning to read it when you had time, but when you did, you couldn’t find it.”

This seemed to further Kai’s embarrassment. “It’s around here somewhere,” he said defensively.

“Or you lost it on the train.”

Kai rolled his eyes and ignored him.

Ruki was about to ask him if he wanted a synopsis or something when the cheerful, tell-tale ringtone of Kai’s cell phone called, jarringly loud, from somewhere farther in the apartment, where Kai must have left it. The dark-haired man immediately got up and excused himself, and Ruki noted vaguely that it was a ringtone he hadn’t heard before, despite the fact that Kai had kept the same song for the duration he’d known him.

Moments later, the soft murmur of Kai’s voice replaced the song and the thought slipped away. Ruki applied himself to the pasta, his own mind drifting with the rise and fall of Kai’s murmuring.

He found himself thinking about the interview again. It was true that his memories seemed reluctant in returning, and what progress he’d made was maddeningly slow. The entire effect was rather like water dripping slowly through a hair-thin crack.

He’d come to terms with the possibility that he might never recover his past, and had decided that pursuing it single-mindedly and ignoring his surroundings was not the course to take. It didn’t mean he was going to give up either, but he’d done well for himself even if the past never returned.

Kai returned to the room and he was startled out of his thoughts. The man looked slightly pale and drawn. Ruki raised a brow. “What? Did you forget to turn off the stove at work or something?”

“We don’t have a stove,” Kai corrected automatically, without seeming to think about it. Then he forced a smile on his face. “It’s nothing.” He seemed to regain his vigor, smiling with more of his usual warmth. “Is your appointment tomorrow?”

Ruki nodded, paying more attention to the sauce about to spill off his plate than what Kai had asked. “Of course. Morita-sensei is expecting me as usual.”

“Ah, sou ka,” the dark-haired man hummed. “Ruki-kun, on your way home tomorrow, can you pick up some salt? I think we’re out.”


---

A small clinic in Shibuya had opened up shortly after Ruki had woken up in the hospital. Morita-sensei set up his psychologist’s office there, something that he’d wanted to do for years and yet for some reason hadn’t found the right catalyst for until that strange first meeting.

Unfortunately it didn’t pay too well, so the doctor still kept a part time night shift at the central hospital. It was at the clinic, however, that Ruki usually had his appointments at.

“Welcome!” the receptionist called cheerfully. The bell hanging from the door jingled as it closed behind him. “Ah, Ruki-san! Here for your appointment? Why don’t you have a seat, Morita-sensei will be with you shortly.”

Obediently sinking into a cushy blue seat, Ruki ran his finger along the stack of magazines sitting on the low table in front of him and selected one that caught his eye. He thumbed through the glossy pages absently until he was called up again.

“Ruki-san, Morita-sensei is ready for you now.”

The carpeted floor muffled whatever noise his shoes might’ve made. An altogether restful quality had been constructed from the soft beige floor, soothing paintings hanging on the wall and the peaceful quiet that was remarkably absent of the normal city buzz. Every now and then, there would even be a faint chirp of a bird.

Doctor Morita had not undergone much physical change in the time Ruki had known him. There was a bit more gray in his thinning hair, and his portly frame might have lost some weight, but his eyes were still quick and sharp and a warm smile was stretched on his face as always. Ruki, with his hair seeing a different shade every few months and a nice collection of heavy silver hoops and gauges added to his ear, seemed to have gone through appearances faster than he had. Morita seemed to be handling the years easier than Ruki did, almost.

He was, therefore, surprised to note that the doctor seemed harried and tired, and had obviously not gotten enough sleep, though the weariness in his face disappeared as soon as he spotted Ruki.

“Ruki-kun!” Doctor Morita exclaimed as if it was some great surprise to see Ruki there. “Come in, sit down. Oh, that’s right,” he said as Ruki took a seat again. “Here. I found a book on recommendable dog types for an apartment pet.” A plain-covered book plastered with a picture of a single dog appeared in one hand. The other unobtrusively replaced a pile of papers back into a folder, out of sight. The book he handed it off to a suddenly alert Ruki, who immediately flipped through the pages with intent eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find a dog you can keep in the apartment.”

“It’ll probably be something small,” Ruki remarked absently. “A Chihuahua, maybe.”

“That would work,” Morita smiled, but he seemed preoccupied with some other inner conflict. “Ruki-kun really likes the cute kinds, don’t you?”

The younger man smiled absently and closed the book, placing it aside. “Yeah, I guess.”

Morita took the hint and took on more professional tones. “So what has happened since we last met?”

“Well,” Ruki said, folding his hands together, “I’ve been having these dreams lately…”

---

It had been a strange appointment, Ruki realized later. Morita had seemed strangely occupied and worried the entire session, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. And yet, at the same time, his questions seemed sharper than usual as Ruki detailed the latest dreams off to him.

Perhaps they had hit upon something. But it seemed unlikely. Ruki responded to the receptionist’s farewell with his own murmured good byes and opened the door.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize someone was standing outside the door until, while he was opening it, the wooden frame connected quite solidly with something, and was followed by a curse of pain.

A young man in his mid twenties clutched his nose, where Ruki had obviously hit him. His gold blonde hair was a bit too long and the pale hint of a tan he had looked slightly ridiculous with the Hawaiian print shirt he had on.

Naturally, Ruki immediately began apologizing. “I’m very sorry, I didn’t see you there—”

As custom dictated, the other man began reassuring him. “Oh, no, it wasn’t your fault, I should’ve been more careful—” he lifted his face and paled rapidly, words dying on his lips.

Recognition flashed in grey eyes that seemed strangely familiar—and shock had obviously bleached the other man’s complexion white. A name was on the tip of his tongue—

“Oh, Suzuki-kun, you’re just on time!” the receptionist called from behind them. “Come in, the doctor’s free now!”

That broke the spell; the blonde tore his gaze away and hurried into the office.

The door jingled shut behind him.