Chapter Text
Sanzu remembers when Senju was twelve, she had managed to catch scarlet fever from a friend, which lasted for two slow, drawn out weeks.
It may have been the worst two weeks of Sanzu’s life.
He had been shut in all day playing house. Boiling soup, brewing tea, counting pills and making breakfast, lunch, dinner. Whilst Takeomi would come home late, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, he’d be tucking Senju into bed, or reading her red riding hood.
“Go to bed.” Takeomi’d tell him coldly, before shutting himself into his room. And when the sun was up the next day, he would be gone again. To lead his gang, run his business.
It was the first time Sanzu had taken drugs.
He was in the bathroom, counting pink pills. By now, it’d been a routine; counting pills, crushing them and letting it dissolve in water because Senju had trouble swallowing them whole.
When he was done, he’d put the bottle back in the cabinet. The second-top shelf with all the other labeless pills. He always did that. That morning, he was supposed to do that.
But instead, he took out another bottle that caught his eye. No name. No colour. At that time, he hadn’t known what it was but if you asked him now, he would’ve said it was heroin.
Heroin was good at first—when it just kicked in and the world would smear into colours and Sanzu’s worries would drift away into the air. He’d sit on the cold bathroom tiles, warmer than ever. It wasn’t the suffocating, sticky kind of warm, but the filling and huglike.
It was good. So-so unbelievably good. He’d take it again, a few weeks later. When Senju was healthy and he didn’t have to count pills any more. He would turn on the shower this time–so no one would hear–grab the stool and put his hand to the second-top shelf. He’d find the bottle almost immediately, because he had left it in the same place. Right in the middle, where the whole world could see it.
Sanzu wasn’t so smart. He’d do heroin every few weeks. Soon, those every few weeks became every single week and every single week became every two days.
And then, finally, it grabbed Sanzu. By the neck, and suffocated him until he was laying on the cold bathroom tiles, barely conscious.
Takeomi found out that evening. When he’d come home late, stumble towards the bathroom and rattle the door knob.
“Who’s in there? Hurry up.” His voice rippled like water, bled through Sanzu’s ears and melted into his mind.
Minutes would pass. Or perhaps hours. Or maybe an eternity. Sanzu could see with his eyes barely open, Takeomi’s shoes through the cracks. He stood still but would occasionally tap his shoe.
“Haruchiyo? You in there? What’s taking so long?”
Sanzu had forgotten to turn on the faucet that day. Right then and there, it was only silence. Dreadful silence, and his light, slow breathing.
That was when Heroin was not good. When Sanzu felt like he was dying. When his heart would barely beat and his mouth would itch and go dry. He’d go nauseous, and throw up and gag and lay on the floor.
“Takeomi?”
It was Senju. Her voice. It was so innocent, so unknowing.
He’d used to be like that.
“Senju?” Takeomi said, sounding surprised. Like he hadn’t expected her to be awake. He cleared his throat. “What’s up? Why are you awake?”
“You were yelling—what’s wrong? Where’s Haru?”
“He’s—he’s fine, don’t worry. Go to bed.”
There had been a long, long pause.
“Is Haru in there?” Senju asked
Takeomi scratched his neck. “Uh, yeah. Haru—-he’s just…a bit sick, okay? He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Sanzu doesn’t remember what happened after that. He knows Takeomi didn’t call the police,
for obvious reasons. And he knows Takeomi didn’t really care because a few weeks later, when Sanzu is all healed and healthy, he finds the heroin again, in the exact same spot. Second shelf up.
No one talks about the incident. Takeomi ignores it and Senju pretends like she doesn’t know. Sanzu continues taking drugs. Not much heroin—he begins to move up—but nevertheless it’s drugs. And everyone knows, somehow. Takeomi, his friends; Shinchiro, Wakasa. They all know. But they don’t do anything. Is there anything they could’ve done?
Yes. Sanzu thinks, every single time he’s thought of this. Even tonight, when he’s on ecstasy and all pumped up, a little bit of him dies inside when he remembers.
He’s with Mikey tonight. On the rooftop, letting the chilly Autumn breeze brush their skin.
They’ve just had a meeting. Nothing good. Koko wasn’t so happy—neither was Ran. Sloppy work, Rindou. They had said. And then Takeomi had yelled at him, the same way he’d yell at Sanzu. This is the third time. Do better. And then, Sanzu yelled at Takeomi.
It wasn’t for Rindou. But he could play it off to be. There was a part of Sanzu that had been waiting for an opportunity where he can yell and scream and call his dear big brother a fucking idiot without anyone questioning anything.
He saw that opportunity, right there, and took it.
Obviously, it didn’t end well. Takeomi stormed out, Koko shook his head and Ran rolled his eyes when Mikey called the meeting off. Sanzu grinned; told Rindou any time, sweetheart’ then went off to find Mikey, who had already disappeared into the evening.
Don’t get him wrong, Sanzu likes Rindou. He thinks, reckons, they’re similar. Not weirdly similar, but similar you can bond over. Rindou is in Ran’s shadow. No one says it, but everyone knows it. It’s obvious. He has been—will be in Ran’s shadow, forever. And that’s okay. Sanzu is in Takeomi’s shadow. Maybe even Senju’s, but he hasn’t heard much from her.
And, they’re both miserable. Rindou uses wine to cope and Sanzu uses drugs. Nowadays, they use sex. They use each other. It’s every Sunday night, in Rindou’s bedroom. Lately, though, it’s become more. More than just sex and hookups. Not long ago, they’d just lie in the sheets and watch TV instead. Not in the mood. Rindou had admitted. Me too. Sanzu had lied.
It was fun. They’d laugh and mock and fall asleep warm and comfy. But Sanzu thinks he’d prefer sex.
So, when Rindou had fallen asleep, Sanzu woke up. He got on his clothes, kissed Rindou on the forehead(because he felt like he should've), left a pretty little note and sneaked his way out. He walked through the vast hallways and ignored Ran when he bumped into him. There was only one person he wanted to talk to right now. Only one person he wanted to see.
Mikey.
Rindou may’ve been nice, but Mikey was unworldly. A late night. He was a busy city with flashy lights and crowded streets. He was the colour red and the shade crimson. He was the addiction in alcohol. The greed in drugs.
“Haruchiyo?” He had asked, when Sanzu creaked the door open. It was never open. Someone must’ve come before him.
Sanzu wonders who.
“Yeah.” He nods, slowly. “It’s me. You up for—y’know.”
Mikey looks at him, blankly. Like a naive child. “Okay.” It’s not a yes or no but Sanzu doesn’t think about it. He is a child too. A selfish, greedy child. A child that had never grown up.
After that, the night went by quickly. In the morning, Rindou had asked Sanzu where he went.
“Mikey needed me.” He explained.
Rindou nodded. Even then, he knew. About everything—him and Mikey. Sanzu doesn’t know how much, but he knows.
He has felt bad on some nights. When he’d just ditch Rindou, or walk out. In all honesty, Sanzu has walked out alot. But Rindou has never said anything. He hasn’t cried or complained or argued. He just lets Sanzu do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to.
Sanzu doesn’t understand. At all.
“He could have anyone he want.” He begins, slow and careful. Mikey and him have never really just talked. Normally, it’s either sex, drugs or bussiness.
Mikey nods. He isn’t really listening. Sanzu knows. He never really listens. Talking to Mikey is like talking to a mirror. He says whatever you want him to say, anything that shuts you up.
Sanzu knows this game. He’s been playing for as long as he can remember. Takeomi was just like this. Never listening, always chewing tobacco.
“Why would he want to be with me?”
Mikey shrugs. He’s looking up at the sky. The stars. They glow pretty tonight.
“I don’t know. Just don’t bring anymore drama. I can’t handle it.”
“Yeah.” Sanzu nods, then smirks slightly. “Tonight was crazy, right? Everyone yelling and shit. What did they expect me to do anyway? Just listen to them yell at Rin?”
Mikey sighs. “You should just leave it. Koko, Ran—they all had good points. Rindou had messed up. He’d need to learn his lesson somehow.”
“That’s a bit cold, don’t you think? I got Ran, but Koko had no room to talk. And what about Takeomi? Why was he even involved. Fuckin’ bastard.”
Mikey glares at him. And if looks could kill.
“Takeomi.” He repeats, and the name seems foreign in his tongue. None of them really talk about Takeomi anymore.
Sanzu still remembers the day when he’d walk into the meeting room, and Takeomi had been sitting there, on his seat with his feet on the table. Sanzu had argued and stormed out at first. Tried to negotiate with Mikey. But he’d already made his decision. “Listen.” He had said. “You need to let it go or suck it up. Your history, drama, whatever. This isn’t family fuckin’ therapy. If you want that shit solved, then go in your own time. I’m here to grow Bonten. And we need Takeomi’s help, whether you like it or not.”
After a lot of suffocating, Sanzu had taken a deep breath. Then he nodded, and pretended to let it go. He pretended to forgive Takeomi, and shook. his hand. Deep down, the both of them knew it wasn’t genuine. It’d never be genuine.
Sanzu hates Takeomi a lot. For everything he did, and everything he didn’t do.
“I think he needs distance.”
Mikey’s hushed voice eventually brings him back to the rooftop; the crisp air and busy night. Below, when Sanzu looks, there’s hundreds of cars zooming by.
“Who?” He asks, because he’d space out for a moment. Who was it they were talking about? Ran? Koko?
“Takeomi.” Mikey says instead and immediately, Sanzu is uninterested again. Takeomi always seemed to need space. On the day Senju was puking her guts out, on the day Sanzu had relapsed. He’d always been distant. Never said good job, or I love you, or anything he should’ve said.
“That doesn’t give him the right to fuckin’ yell at Rindou like that. Why does he get a say? He doesn’t do jack shit.”
“Sanzu.” Mikey warns, looking away.
“You’re not heroic.” A voice behind them speaks. Sanzu turns, but Mikey keeps his glare. It’s Koko. He approaches the both of them, but he is only looking at Sanzu.
“What?” Sanzu groans, just as Koko stands beside him, with his hands in his pockets.
“You’re not as heroic as you think you are. Saving little old Rindou. I know that’s not why. It’s not a matter of that, Harchuiyo. You didn’t yell at Takeomi because of what he said. He could have yelled at anyone there, and you would’ve had the same reaction. It’s because you’re bitter over something that happened years ago. And you took it out today, then played it off like you didn’t mean any harm.”
“Talk about bitter.” Sanzu huffs, underneath his breath. He can feel Koko glaring at him, from the corner of his eyes.
“That’s not even true.” He adds on but when he turns to look at Mikey, he’s gone already. Without a single sound. Gone with the wind.
“Of course it’s not.” Koko scoffs. “I’m just saying, you didn’t trick me. I’m smarter than that.”
“You don’t know the shit he did!” Sanzu snaps, suddenly. Koko backs away, with wide eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t” He begins. “But you need to let it go—forget about it. Isn’t that what Mikey said?”
“Oh.” Sanzu smiles crookedly but he feels like crying, falling apart. “I need to forget? I need to fuckin’ forget? Me?”
Koko shakes his head, and he’s realised he’s made a mistake. A big one, perhaps. His tone is softer this time.
“Haruchiyo, don’t.”
But Sanzu doesn’t listen. He’s always been stubborn like that. If someone, anyone that isn’t Mikey, tells him don’t, then he definitely will.
“You should be the last one telling me to forget, to let it go. Why don’t you? Koko, why don’t you fuckin’ let it go?”
A large gust of wind passes them, and Sanzu shivers slightly. There’s a loud crash in the distance. Lightning, perhaps. He feels rain hit his skin.
“You’re high.” Koko states, almost stupidly. “You’re high and you—you need to suck it up. Okay? Go to bed, freshen up. Talk about this tomorrow; to someone who cares.”
“You can’t keep doing this.” He mumbles lastly, before heading back. The rain is getting heavy at this point. No one likes getting soaked. Especially Sanzu—he despises rain. Storms, the cold. He hates it all.
Yet, he finds himself glued there. On the rooftop, his hair soaked. The world goes quickly when he’s lost in thought.
Later, when Sanzu’s back inside, drying his hair and stumbling through the halls, he finds himself stopping at a door. There’s a light glowing through the creek. He hesitates at first, but brings his knuckle to the door eventually.
“Rindou.” He whispers, after the second knock.
There’s a slight pause before the door floats open.