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Waking up to a new reality was not something Sanzu ever expected to experience. To have his life completely turned upside down, and to lose everything that currently mattered to him in an instant was jarring. He really had nothing.
No plans.
No aspirations.
No one to tell him what to do… no one left to tell him who to be.
Everyone who wanted to tell him what to do he didn’t want to talk to. As far as Sanzu was concerned, he was done with those bastards. The only one he really cared about was gone, so what use were they to him anymore?
Sanzu hadn’t answered his phone in days. Why should he? Mucho had returned it to him the morning after he found Sanzu wandering the streets of Tokyo in distress and high off his ass. Mucho had even gone out and found him a charger since the stupid thing had been dead for at least 24 hours by that point. When it finally booted up a litany of missed text messages and phone calls from the other Bonten executives flashed across his screen. Asking where he was. What he wanted to do next.
A reminder from Kokonoi that he was technically the leader of Bonten now. His whiney voicemail panicked, telling Sanzu to call him back as soon as he got his message.
A text message from Rindou stating “Don’t respond if you’re dead.”
The majority of the missed messages were from his brother. He promptly deleted those. He didn’t want to hear Takeomi’s voice shift from concern, to anger, to straight up panic. He knew Takeomi would worry that he had lost his last living sibling. The oldest brother who came into this world alone, having to live the rest of his life alone… Blah, blah, blah… So tragic, those Akashi siblings. So sad.
Takeomi could choke for all he cared.
Sanzu did not give a fuck about any of that right now.
He wasn’t dead, but he kind of wishes he was.
He didn’t want to be the leader of Bonten. That was never what he wanted. He had only accepted being the number two so he could support Mikey…
Mikey…
The thought sent a wave of nausea shooting through Sanzu’s body, and he found himself scrambling to Mucho’s bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the shower. His stomach heaved so violently that his back started to hurt, and his eyes overflowed with tears until there was nothing left inside of him. Nothing except for the ache of emptiness.
Sanzu grimaced as he fell back onto his ass and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before turning the shower on to let the cold water do what it could to wash the mess down the drain. With the curtain open, a cool mist from the shower rained over his heated skin, and Sanzu laid down on the soft gray rug in front of the shower.
Why was he here?
In this place…in the apartment of a man he had thought dead and decayed for many, many years.
Of course, he could trace his actions back to the moment he barrelled into Mucho’s chest a few nights ago, completely delirious and running on very few hours of sleep and the hardest drugs he could buy. He knew how he got here - Mikey killed himself, Sanzu lost his mind, and Mucho found him.
Grounding him like always.
The “how” was linear, and made “sense” even if the initial catalyst for this whole chain of events still caused Sanzu’s brain to reel and his stomach to churn and he would never fully understand why Mikey would do this…
But the why…
Why was Mucho alive?
Why is he helping him?
And most importantly, why in the hell has Mucho forgiven him?
The words spoken to him on his first night in Mucho’s apartment…
“I want to let you know I forgive you.”
That’s one of the first things you say to a man that tried to kill you 11 years ago?
I forgive you.
That was a load of bullshit.
If Sanzu was in Mucho’s shoes, he would have left himself out on the streets to rot. Not gathered him up into his arms and hoisted him into his apartment, giving him everything he needed to be comfortable until Sanzu figured out what to do next.
But Mucho was a different kind of man than him. Sanzu wouldn’t say he was a better man by any means, because Sanzu still wonders if things would have been any different if Mucho hadn’t fucking betrayed him and Mikey and just stayed with him in Toman like he should have…
Would things have been so screwed up if Mucho didn’t fucking lie to him when they were teenagers?
Fuck. He hated Mucho so fucking much. Hated that he wouldn’t just let Sanzu die. Hated that he fed him and clothed him and gave him a place to stay like he was a little lost dog. Hated that he had forgiven him.
Maybe that forgiveness is why Sanzu found it so hard to make a decision and just fucking leave.
Because he knew there were a few members of Bonten that would never forgive him. He was the one that should’ve been protecting Mikey, and yet here they were. No Mikey. No leader. No more Bonten as far as Sanzu was concerned.
He was safe here. Safe enough at least. Safe as long as his former colleagues never figured out where he was.
Sanzu could never go back. He didn’t want to go back.
So he was left with two choices. Death, because Sanzu didn’t want to live out in those streets alone, or Mucho, which was almost as bad because Mucho was so gentle and caring and nice and totally different from the man he had cut down years ago.
Well, Mucho had always been caring and nice to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. He had always been kind to Sanzu. Mucho had taken Sanzu under his wing from the moment he was placed in his care, and had really been the first consistency in Sanzu’s life. Mucho had given him stability when his life was so twisted and distorted that Sanzu couldn’t tell the difference between up and down… Mucho cared about him in a way that Sanzu had never experienced before and would probably never experience again..
Sanzu knew that Mucho loved him.
Loved him as a brother, and as a partner. Mucho’s love had always been so direct and straightforward, and Sanzu never had to question the validity behind it, because Mucho never lied to him. At least he never lied about those kinds of things. His love for Sanzu was Mucho’s one weakness, and Sanzu had used that against him. Time and time again, Mucho fell weak to soft words and a flutter of his eyelashes, or just a desperate need of being saved… Mucho was always there, even when it would have been better for him to stay away.
Even when his love nearly got him killed… he was there.
Despite nearly being fish food ten years ago, Mucho claimed he still loved him. Mucho loved him for who he was and who he had been. Sanzu didn’t understand that. He was no longer the person Mucho fell in love with. He barely even recognized himself most mornings when he looked in the mirror.
So how could Mucho still love someone like him?
Someone who did such terrible things to him. To other people. Someone who was a wanted criminal and would likely bring Mucho’s life to a screeching halt when the gangs or the police figured out where he was.
Sanzu decided that he did not want to drag Mucho into this. He really didn’t. Mucho didn’t deserve this. He deserved the quiet, predictable little life he had made for himself.
But Sanzu also discovered that he couldn’t leave. Physically and mentally, he could not bring himself to leave again.
If Mucho was one thing, it was consistent. Just like always, he was right there when Sanzu needed him most. He had always been such a soft place to fall whenever Sanzu fucked up.
And Sanzu had done his fair share of fuck-ups.
His biggest mistake was probably letting Mucho go.
He had traded Mucho for Mikey.
And now Mikey was gone, and Mucho was back, and Sanzu was oh so overwhelmed and confused and heartbroken.
Sanzu doesn’t know how long he was laying on the cold floor of Mucho’s bathroom. 10 minutes or an hour or two didn’t make a difference. His face was still damp from the mist of the running shower, and his bones ached when he rolled into a sitting position to turn the faucet off. Most of the mess had washed itself down the drain, and what was left...well. Maybe Sanzu would clean that up later.
Whipping his face on his sleeve (Mucho’s sleeve actually, as he was still stuck wearing the older man’s clothes) Sanzu pulled himself to his feet to make his way back into the common area of Mucho’s small studio apartment. Nearly 1 pm… it would still be four or five more hours before Mucho returned from work. Sanzu couldn’t remember what exactly he did for a job, but Sanzu figured he was doing well enough for himself and was well liked amongst his coworkers if all Mucho had to do was lie about a family emergency in order to take a couple days off of work so that Sanzu wouldn’t be alone in his apartment. Mucho had left only twice since Saturday, once to pick up a few personal items to make Sanzu more comfortable in his home, and once to find something to make it more comfortable to sleep on the floor.
But today, Wednesday, Mucho had to return, and Sanzu found himself alone again. He wishes that Mucho could’ve stayed with him one more day, because today is a week since it happened, and every time his phone buzzed with further attempts of the executives to locate him, it was like an electric shock shot him right in the heart.
Sanzu felt jittery, and his leg couldn’t stop shaking, even as he sat on Mucho’s bed with his legs underneath him.
How long has it been since he woke up, and had to make a choice of what to do with his day?
How long had it been since he had no direction? No purpose? He had spent so many years of his life doing exactly what he was told, chasing after Mikey that now, he felt completely out of control and incredibly unsure.
Mikey’s not here to give Sanzu any more directions. Now, Sanzu’s just trapped inside of his own head, and he alone has to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.
But that was much too daunting of a thought for a Wednesday afternoon when you can’t sit still and grief is eating at your heart like a bunch of rats.
For now, all he had to do was figure out what to do for four more hours until he no longer had to be alone with his thoughts anymore.
Looking around the small space, Sanzu wondered where Mucho had possibly hidden the rest of his items that had been “confiscated” when Mucho rescued him from the streets..
Well, Mucho had told him to make himself at home. So now was as good of a time as any to snoop. Maybe if he found his things, he could solve the problem of not knowing what to do with himself.
Pulling open the bedside drawer, Sanzu peered inside, looking at an uninspired collection of items that just screamed Mucho. A phone charger and a handful of loose coins. The comb they had been sharing, as Mucho had yet to get him a brush. A dog-eared paperback book that seemed to be some sort of historical fiction. Boring . And finally a neat pack of tissues and a small box of condoms and Sanzu laughed to himself, imagining Mucho having the balls to invite anyone over to this ragtag little apartment and fucking them in this tiny bed. Slamming the drawer shut before he got any ideas or before the familiar feeling of jealousy ate him alive, Sanzu moved over to the closet in the hallway.
The only real closet in the tiny place, Mucho stored both his clothes and linens in the small space. Swiping his hands between the layers of the folded and stacked sheets and towels first, Sanzu found nothing of interest, and moved on to inspect the floor of the closet, noticing nothing but the four or so pairs of casual shoes Mucho owned. Nothing to note either in the plastic set of sliding drawers that the towels and sheets were stacked on top of, but Sanzu found it interesting that Mucho still preferred the same brand of boxer briefs he had at 18. Boring old man, such a creature of habit. How could he live like that?
The pockets of his coats revealed a few wrappers and a movie ticket to see that stupid action film that came out last winter. All of his shirts were straightforward and plain solid colors. Sanzu found himself a bit disappointed that Mucho hadn’t kept the ounce of fashion sense he used to possess back when they were kids. Sanzu also found himself wondering if Mucho would want his old leather jacket back if Sanzu ever made it into his apartment again (or if Sanzu could ever admit he had been so sentimental that he had kept the jacket in the first place). That idea was quickly shaken from his head so that he could pull a chair up to peek over the shelf that hung over Mucho’s clothes, and found nothing more than an old dust bunny and a concerningly crunchy bug that got smashed beneath his fingers as he patted around.
The drawers in the bathroom were slightly more interesting, but only because it showed the slight intimate details of who Mucho is. The pomade he used for his hair…the brand of razor he used… a half used box of black hair dye. Popping the cap off of Mucho’s aftershave, Sanzu took a deep inhale, the sharp scent slightly hurting his head before an achy kind of warmth coupled with a deep, insistent, familiar longing settled over his soul. The smell was so familiar, and like many things, Sanzu had experienced it before by being close to Mucho, but it reminded him of simpler times and wishing for simpler times was very dangerous because nothing would ever be quite like that again. Slapping the lid back on, Sanzu returned the bottle to the drawer, knowing it was sloppy and knowing Mucho would know he had been sneaking around when he opened the drawer later that night.
A cabinet was placed above Mucho’s clothes washer, and Sanzu needed the chair to be able to reach to the back of it. Behind the detergent and fabric softener, Sanzu found exactly what he had been looking for. Scooping his items to the front of the cabinet, Sanzu grabbed them before hopping down to the floor. He dragged the chair back to the table in the common area, and dumped his knives and gun onto the table. His bottle of pills were missing, and that thought made his skin itch, but he had gone without for four full days now, so he could survive a few more before he needed to go out and find one of their mules that worked nearby.
The knives seemed to be intact, but really, what could Mucho do to a knife besides drag it across concrete in hopes to dull it. But the gun Sanzu had hoped to remain intact and fully loaded. However, Mucho had wiped it clean, even remembering to pop the shell out of the chamber, a step that so many people forgot to do. But Sanzu knew Mucho would never forget to do that. Not with his own history, and definitely not with someone like Sanzu in his home.
With a sigh, Sanzu flipped the chamber shut, looking around himself to see if there was anything else to see. The studio was so small, and other than digging through the kitchen drawers, he had explored every noticeable inch of the place that he could. Mucho did not own much, and few decorations hung on the walls, so the apartment was very neat and spartan. The only hint of personality were the few dvds and a small stack of books near the TV, but other than that, Mucho had nothing in way of entertainment. Flipping on the TV and returning to Mucho’s bed, pistol still in his hand, Sanzu pondered his situation.
Pulling back the hammer, before letting it go with a metallic snap, Sanzu fiddled with his pistol, wondering if there was a point in keeping an unloaded hunk of metal in his possession. The knives would be sufficient for self-protection, and using the gun as a blunt object was a less than ideal use.
And, if he chose to stay with Mucho, would he need this thing again at all?
Mucho seemed to live a very mellow, low-key life. He appeared to have his shit together, and was an actual functioning member of society, unlike Sanzu himself. Sanzu found himself barely functioning on most days, so he doubted his own ability to make it out there without the support of Bonten’s power and money.
Mucho had promised Sanzu could stay with him for as long as he wanted to. He had originally said a night, and then the weekend, a week…now the offer stood indefinitely and Sanzu found himself selfishly wishing to accept the offer.
He had ruined Mucho’s life once before anyway. He could ruin it again without a guilty conscience. Maybe. Possibly. If only the very real possibility of Mucho actually dying for him this time didn’t exist.
Mindlessly, Sanzu rubbed the cold metal in his hands with his thumb, thinking of how easy it would be to make a decision if Mucho had forgotten the bullet in the chamber.
When the front door opened at promptly 6pm, Sanzu was jolted out of his mindless state and realized the show on the TV was no longer the one he had originally planned to watch. Sanzu was unsure of how long he had zoned out for, but he turned his head towards the door, watching as Mucho struggled to kick off his work boots without setting down his shopping bags.
After kicking the door closed behind him, Mucho approached Sanzu on the bed, slowing when he saw the shiny silver pistol in his hands.
“I see you found your things.”
Sanzu nodded, placing the pistol in Mucho’s outstretched hand without protesting. It was useless to him anyway.
“Knives are on the table.”
“Thanks for letting me know…”
Depositing the weapon next to the knives, Mucho returned to Sanzu with his bags, pulling out a small array of clothing items.
“It’s not much, but these should fit you better than my clothes…”
Sanzu nodded as he was handed the pile. A few shirts, long sleeved, to cover up his tattoo. A pair of jeans, sweatpants, and underwear. It was all very simple. Nothing that would make Sanzu stand out. But he noticed Mucho had picked out shirts in colors that Sanzu had preferred when he was 15, and that somewhat stung more than comforted.
Holding the pile of clothes on his lap, Sanzu found he couldn’t lift his head to meet Mucho’s gaze. Mucho continued to explain briefly what else he had bought for Sanzu. A hairbrush and hair ties, a different brand of toothpaste and a more mild deodorant because Sanzu had complained that he didn’t like the flavor or smell of Mucho’s. A proper shoji board was too expensive, but a dual use chess / checkers board was something neutral they could do together that almost had the same energy as their old favorite game. A couple of paperback books and a magazine and a book of sudoku puzzles because Mucho knew he was bored, but couldn’t afford or didn’t want to buy anything more complex than that. Mucho said that he remembered Sanzu used to like this specific genre of books, so he hoped this was still something he enjoyed.
Sanzu hated how many assumptions Mucho made about him. It was almost as if he assumed Sanzu hadn’t changed at all, or if he was trying to force Sanzu to be the person he had been years ago. Mucho didn’t know anything about him, or what he had been through the past few years. Just because he knew little bits of trivia about a 16 year old him, doesn’t mean he knows him now.
Sanzu pouted, lower lip stuck out in a grimace as he flipped one of the books over to read the synopsis and found that it didn’t sound that bad…it had been quite some time since he sat down and read a book, so he didn’t even know if he still had the attention span for it. But the thought was nice… and Sanzu knew Mucho was just trying to make him comfortable and give him a sense of normalcy.
Mucho was so funny in the worst ways. Sanzu could tell by the lines on his forehead that he was in a near constant state of alertness having Sanzu in his home. But in the same glance, he had such a softness in his eyes that Sanzu couldn’t ignore. Sanzu knew Mucho had no idea what to do, and spent so much time in his own pea brain sized mind looking for the right answers… what will keep Sanzu safe and what will make him stay? Mucho didn’t have those answers, but he still tried, despite how difficult having Sanzu in his home was.
But it also amused Sanzu to no end that Mucho literally had the second in command of the worst gang in Tokyo sitting on his bed, and he offered him a board game as a way to comfort him and keep the peace.
Mucho was so simple.
But maybe what Sanzu needed most right now was the simple sort of kindness that Mucho was offering him.
He certainly couldn’t complain about it, even if it confused him to the point of making his stomach hurt and eyes swim.
“Have you eaten today?” Mucho’s deep voice pulled Sanzu out of his thoughts. He pulled the stack of clothes out of Sanzu’s hands, making a spot for them in the closet beside Mucho’s own. Sanzu explained with a huff that he hadn’t, and Mucho sighed before turning towards the kitchen. “I told you to make yourself at home. Eat whatever you need.”
Sanzu watched Mucho from the bed, wondering how he had managed to maneuver life in this tiny apartment with his big body for so many years. Even the ramshackle place they had shared when they were in Toman was bigger than this, and now they were stuck in an even tinier place with so little room that they practically breathed on each other from across the room. It just further showed that Mucho was always resilient, even as Sanzu was falling apart.
“I felt sick when I woke up.”
Mucho acknowledged him with a hum, turning on his stove to heat up some leftovers from the meal he had made them yesterday. Even from behind, Mucho looked tense as he thought of a way to respond, but Sanzu knew the question he was thinking of.
“Are you…having withdrawals? I’m not sure how heavily you used the pills that I found in your pocket.”
Sanzu laughed, the sound coming out like a pained bark that caused Mucho to jump, glancing at his temporary roommate over his shoulder.
“If you knew everything I’ve used, you probably wouldn’t have let me use your razor yesterday morning.”
Mucho nodded, and Sanzu noticed he was chewing on the inside of his lip as he walked to the table to place their cutlery and glasses of water down. A nervous habit that Sanzu was seeing more and more as the time he spent with Mucho went on, and Mucho continued to wrestle with the thoughts and questions in his head.
Mucho gathered up his knives and gun once again, this time, placing them in a lower cabinet because Mucho was smart and knew Sanzu would find them again soon if he really wanted them. Checking the food heating on the stove, Mucho pushed the food around with a spoon before walking back to the bed, sitting on it next to Sanzu, seemingly settled on what he had to say.
Sanzu found again that he could not look Mucho in the eyes. So instead he focused on Mucho’s hands. They were just slightly lighter in color than the skin of his arms. Mucho must work outside with gloves on. His hands were always strong, and they flexed around nothing as Mucho wrestled with his words. The veins on the back of his hands were prominent and healthy, which was quite unlike Sanzu’s own. His arms were tanned and freckled, showing off the lighter skin of the scars on his arms, badges of honor from his former days running the streets with Toman. Sanzu remembered what fights some of them came from, and the memories settled over him like a warm blanket to protect him as he waited for Mucho to collect himself enough to speak.
“I don’t want to push you away…but the only rule I have for you to stay here is that you can’t take drugs in my apartment.”
Sanzu rolled his eyes and shrugged his hair over his shoulders to hang around his face. Expected. Sanzu remembered that Mucho used to be involved with all that shit, narcotics and all, when the S62 generation first formed. But while the others continued, Mucho had backed away after seeing how damaging those things could be. He had been to jail, broken laws left and right, but that was one line he wouldn’t cross ever again.
Sanzu had no choice but to comply for now.
“I understand.” His voice sounded cracked. Hollow. He knew Mucho could tell that his “understanding” was not sincere, but what else could Sanzu do?
Mucho was all he had.
The chime of the kitchen timer going off broke them out of the tense moment, and Mucho returned to the kitchen. Sanzu made his way to the chair that he had claimed as his own, and waited until Mucho placed his dinner in front of him. Their knees bumped as Mucho sat down, and Sanzu found himself wondering how often Mucho had used this table to eat with someone else. It was barely big enough for two, so he couldn’t imagine it was a common occurrence, but the thought of someone else sitting in this seat made him uncomfortable.
He was still finding his footing, and would be looking for his place in the world probably for the rest of his life, but he had already claimed pieces of Mucho’s property as his, even if he did not deserve to claim things like that.
This was his seat. Anyone else being in this place was unacceptable.
Especially if Mucho still “loved” him.
Sanzu pulled his feet into the seat of the chair, trying to make himself as small as he felt as he poked at his food while Mucho watched him closely. He was worried, as he had been since he pulled Sanzu off the streets, but Sanzu was not sure he could address that feeling right now when his own emotions were threatening to drown him. Sanzu felt Mucho reaching out to him before the incessant buzzing of his cell phone interrupted them.
Mucho’s eyes drifted to Sanzu’s phone, plugged in beside the bed.
“I think that Takeomi man is calling you again.”
Sanzu glanced down at his hands, at the bowl of food Mucho had placed there, and tried to hide the shame in his eyes.
“They probably have hope I’m out there somewhere, because my phone isn’t going straight to voicemail anymore.”
Mucho nodded, accepting this as a likely scenario.
“You should respond. They’re likely worried about you.”
Sanzu scoffed, waving off the concern. As if anyone was really worried about him. “If I respond they might come find me. I don’t want that either.”
“Either way…the longer your phone continues to work, the longer they will keep looking.”
Sanzu pondered that hypothetical scenario, knowing it was most likely true. Takeomi at least deserved some sort of response. Maybe that way, he wouldn’t have an old man heart attack while worrying over his poor little baby brother’s fate.
Abruptly getting up from his seat, Sanzu stalked over to the bed and snatched his phone off the charger. He typed out a quick message to his brother, and waited for it to send, Mucho’s eyes on him every step of the way.
I’m fine. Not coming back. You’re in charge, Akashi.
The message went through quickly, and almost as quickly, the bubble indicating that someone was typing appeared on his screen. Before the text message finished sending, Sanzu threw his phone to the ground with all of the force he could muster, further shattering the already cracked screen. A few more tosses left the phone completely unusable and a few dents in the floor from the strength behind the throws. For good measure, Sanzu used the edge of the table to bend the phone in half, cracking any last little thing that could have kept the cell phone in working order.
Setting the mangled phone in the middle of the table, Sanzu returned to his seat across from Mucho, the broken device between their two dinners. Mucho watched him, a level of amusement sparkling in his blue eyes.
“Feel better?”
“Fuck no.”
“Didn’t expect you to.”
Sanzu glared at him as he stabbed his chopstick through a large piece of meat on the top of his bowl. Mucho leaned back, moving as far away from him as he could without being obvious as he proceeded to eat his dinner in a much more careful, less aggressive way. They didn’t speak, because they still struggled to find words to share that made sense and didn’t straight up hurt, but the TV in the corner provided some good background noise until the news came on, and Mucho reached over to turn it off with the remote.
Keeping him from reality, Sanzu bitterly thought.
He appreciated that Mucho didn’t bring up what today was. But he also wondered whether or not Mucho even understood that Sanzu had been reliving the worst day of his life since he woke up.. Sanzu was sure he did. He kept track of everything else about Sanzu. There is no way that he could forget something like this
After dinner, Mucho gathered their dishes and threw the shattered remains of Sanzu’s phone in the trash. Sanzu gathered himself back on Mucho’s bed, leaning with his back against the wall, the blankets and sheets gathered in a messy pile over his legs. Mucho returned to him, and Sanzu found himself wishing that Mucho would at least sit beside him for a while, but still he kept his distance by sitting down on the makeshift bed he had made for himself. He looked up at Sanzu, their eyes meeting for a second before they both looked away.
Mucho was always watching him. Keeping an eye on him to make sure he was okay and surviving. But he couldn’t handle being watched back, but Sanzu wasn’t quite sure why. He had always been that way…ears always turning red if Sanzu stared too long himself.
Clearing his throat, Mucho asked the second question that must have been weighing on his mind all evening. “So, what are you planning to do now?”
“Sick of me already, Captain? Didn’t think you’d be so cruel.”
Mucho turned back towards him, cheeks pink at the endearment behind the nickname. He started to deny what Sanzu said, a stuttered “no” leaving his lips.
Sanzu rolled his eyes before crawling off the bed, making his way to the closet where he had seen Mucho stash the game board he had shown him earlier. He slid onto Mucho’s bed on the floor, shooing him to scoot down when he decided they didn’t have enough room. Opening the box, he pulled out the black and red checked board and flattened it between them. Using his teeth, he tore open the plastic bag holding the checkers and dumped them out on the floor.
“I think that bag had a zipper -”
“Shut up.”
Kicking Mucho with his outstretched foot, Sanzu set about placing the pieces in their correct space, scowling as Mucho chuckled at him.
Mucho tried to help him put the game together, but Sanzu swatted his hands away and told him to fuck off. It was something little, but putting these pieces in place was one of the few things he had control of right now.
Because Sanzu didn’t have an answer to his question.
He didn’t know what to do now.
Leaving didn’t feel right. Going back to Bonten didn’t feel right. Trying to leave the city or the country definitely didn’t feel right.
Staying here didn’t feel right either. It was such a weight on his conscience and he really felt unable to handle it.
But he didn’t want to leave. Even if this life was boring, living in the safety and security of Mucho’s stability was more comforting than he expected. Mucho was not full of surprises. He did what he said… from cooking what he promised for dinner to being home at a specific time… Sanzu always knew what to expect.
And that was nice. Mucho’s life fit him. Sanzu knew that he was a dark stain in this pristine home and he was in such contrast from Mucho’s daily routine. He took up space, when this space was barely big enough for Mucho alone, and changed up his routine and was probably the biggest burden Mucho had ever experienced.
But Sanzu was selfish.
He was selfish and he only thought about himself and what living a life like this would mean for him. He didn’t want to leave, because he knew that without Mucho, he would never have this life again.
Maybe with Mucho he could learn to live like this… He could live like a normal person. Be a decent man. Maybe he could learn to be comfortable in his own body, and not crave the sensation of flooding his veins with poison to escape his own mind.
Maybe he could learn to live again.
A new life… so different from the one he had been living. With Mucho…maybe. If Mucho really didn’t get tired of him and kick him out. No Mikey… but also no death and drugs and killing and chaos…
It didn’t sound too bad.
It almost sounded kind of nice.
And sitting across from Mucho, his foot resting against Mucho’s knee as the other man sat cross legged, inspecting the game board, was a sensation he didn’t realize he had missed. Mucho looked up at him and smiled, an actual real, genuine smile, and congratulated him on a move he had just made.
Sanzu hated Mucho. He hated the way he made him feel.
But seeing that smile again for the first time in so many years almost made the edges of Sanzu’s mouth turn up as well.
They were both rusty at this. The game and just being humans together. By the end of their third game, Sanzu had won twice, and Mucho once, and they both acknowledged that all they needed was some more practice, and they would be quite formidable opponents for each other.
Maybe with practice, Sanzu thought, they could repair what had fallen apart between them so many years ago as well.