"Yeah," Nango said. "The organization that Interpol was after was based out of Southeast Asia. The Japanese yakuza were also involved, too. They've sent people from "Fourth Division* over there, too."
And what about Song? Kuji seemed to say as he lifted his face. Nango wore a reluctant look as he turned to the window.
"...I can't tell you that right now."
Kuji took that as a sign that Nango would tell him someday. He also turned his face to the window and felt the gentle rays of the sun on his face. I'll wait, he thought.
That night, he was met with an unexpected visit.
It was after lights-out. Kuji opened his eyes, sensing a man's presence in the dark room. It was Song. But Kuji's vision was only good enough to sense strong light. He reached out and felt for the light switch of his bed head lamp. A warm hand stopped him. It was the familiar touch from long ago.
"S-Song, it's you!" Kuji exclaimed as he felt along the hand that clasped his. He ran his hands up the man's wrist and arm, grabbed a handful of the crisp fabric of his shirt and tried to draw him close. But the man stood like a stone and did not budge.
"Song! Song!" Kuji continued to cry until Song's palm covered his mouth.
"Masatake, please. Quiet down," said Song's voice at his ear. Kuji felt tears well up and stream from his eyes. As he sobbed, a sturdy arm wound around his head.
"I'm sorry. I wanted to visit you sooner, but there were a lot of things I had to sort out."
"It's okay," Kuji said as he pressed his face into the man's chest. "I thought I'd only get to see you in God's kingdom."
A large palm stroked his head. "Thank you for saving my life," Song said.
"It's no big deal. It's what I wanted to do. And I'm happy I did."
"But look at what you've sustained because of me. I'm sorry," Song said quietly as he cupped Kuji's face with his hands.
"It's nothing to be sorry about," Kuji said. He felt the other man's warm breath on his face.
"I've already given my body and soul to the priest who saved me at the border," said Song. "There's nothing left that I can give to you to make up for it, Masatake. I'm sorry."
"I told you it's okay," Kuji insisted. "I've already gotten lots from you already."
"Masatake," he heard the man murmur. The next moment, he felt something soft press against his lips. Startled, he shrank back. The soft sensation quickly drew away, and the man's presence left him. Abandoned in the darkness, Kuji wept silently.
I'll probably never see him again.
It wasn't a vague premonition; Kuji was certain that it was true.
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　Fourth Division　　The Fourth Division of the Japanese police presides over organized crime (including gangs, trading of weapons and drugs, and foreign criminals).