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In movies, getting out of jail is cause for celebration.
It makes the main character change his or her ways. it makes them see their wrong doings in a different light and turn over a new leaf. There’s triumphant music and a sense of hardship being over.
It’s good to get out of jail in the movies.
This isn’t a fucking movie.
God, Yasuhiro’s life would be so much simpler if he was in a movie. All the shit that happened to him wouldn’t be so painful. Because it was all a movie. It was all fake.
Though when he thinks about it, he’d probably end up being some background character with no personality or story arc. Because that’s the kind of guy Yasuhiro Muto is. A background character. Someone who lives in the shadow of the flashy protagonist or antagonist, it doesn’t matter, they’re all the same, supporting them from the sidelines. Someone who doesn’t make a fuss. Someone completely unnoticeable. That’s fine with him though. He’s never been one for shining glory. He prefers the shadow. It’s easier to hide everything in shadow.
However, because he’s not a protagonist in a movie, that means that his release from juvie is not met with triumph.
It’s met with pounding rain and a public bus that smells of mothballs and god knows what else. Yasuhiro runs his hand through his buzzed hair as he peers out the window, watching the sleeting rain. They’re in Red District territory now. The last stop.
The red lights and seedy businesses are still legible through the downpour. Business in the Red District never stops no matter the weather. There could be a fucking tsunami coming and there’d still be prostitutes lining the streets and people still paying to use them.
They move past the city streets and into the run down neighborhoods where Yasuhiro spent most of his childhood. Dilapidated houses and moldy apartment buildings line these streets. To others, a dangerous area. To him, it’s home.
The bus pulls to a stop in front of one of many apartment complexes in poor state and Yasuhiro knows it’s his time to get off. He pulls himself out of his seat, grabbing his backpack and making his way to the exit. He’s pretty much the last one on the bus he notices in passing, save for two more boys he doesn’t know.
He steps off the bus into the cold night air, but he isn’t fazed by it. The rain has slacked up and he assesses his surroundings as the bus pulls away and continues on its trek. After steeling his resolve, Yasuhiro makes his way to the apartment complex, sneakers splashing in puddles and soaking the hem of his pants. He doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care.
He goes up the outside stairs and, once reaching the second floor, starts his search, glancing at a small piece of paper in his hand then glancing up at the door number as he moves down the walkway. Finally, at the sixth door, he reaches his destination.
206.
He inhales deeply before knocking. He doesn’t have his watch anymore, juvie didn’t give it back, but he can tell it’s most likely around nine.
‘She’s probably asleep,’ he thinks wearily and prepares himself to sleep on the concrete of the walkway. He’s so tired.
His ears perk up when he hears movement from behind the door. He looks at the peephole despite not being able to see inside.
Then he hears it. Her voice. A voice he hasn’t heard in a long time.
“Yasuhiro?”
“Hi Mom,” the pre-teen says exhausted but he puts on a soft smile.
“What are you doing here? I thought—didn’t you—weren’t you arrested?”
Yasuhiro cringes. So she heard, “Uhh yeah, but I got out,” he gestures to himself awkwardly.
“What are you doing here?” That question again.
“I was hoping I could maybe,” he pauses, bracing himself, “Stay the night?”
It’s quiet. That’s when he should have seen that’s when things would go south. It was quiet for too long.
“No.”
“No? Not even just for the night? I’ll be gone in the morning. Before you even wake up.” the blonde tries. God, he’s so tired.
“No.” His Mom states firmly.
“Why not? Why can’t I come in?” Yasuhiro asks.
“You just can’t.”
“I’m your son.” Yasuhiro’s irritation starts to show.
“I’m not going to let you in this house. I will not repeat the same cycle.”
The blonde pauses, “What are you saying?”
“I will not let another Muto into my house again.” His Mom says coldly.
“Are you serious?” Yasuhiro’s voice rises, “You’re not gonna let me, your only son, inside because what? I have the same last name as him?”
“You look just like him,” she whispers, “And you sound like him too.”
Yasuhiro sees red.
“DON’T YOU EVER COMPARE ME TO THAT PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!!” He rages, “HE HURT ME TOO YOU KNOW!!” He takes a shuddering breathe as the weight of what he said hits him and he crumples. “He hurt me too…” he breathes.
It’s dead silent. The rain’s quiet drizzle onto the pavement and the chirping of cicada’s being the only sound.
“Mom,” He whimpers, “Please…let me in…” Silence. He knows she’s still there. He hears her shift her weight behind the door. “Mom, please…” He tries again, his eyes starting to sting as the weight of the past year comes down on him. Cold silence. She’s still there. Why can't she let him in?
“Mom-"
“No.” Yasuhiro’s Mom finally answers, “Leave.”
“And where the fuck am I supposed to go?” Yasuhiro responds, near hysterical, “I have nowhere else to go!”
“Go away, Yasuhiro.”
Yasuhiro bangs his fist on the door in a fit of rage and it shakes violently with the action. “GO AWAY TO WHERE?! THE STREET?! YOU’RE REALLY GONNA LET YOUR SON SLEEP OUT ON THE STREET?! YOUR THIRTEEN YEAR OLD SON WHO JUST SPENT A YEAR IN THE COLD CELL OF A JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER?! IS THAT REALLY WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW?!”
No answer.
“MOM OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Yasuhiro screams, the emotional pain apparent as his voice cracks at the strain, hitting the door agains so hard that his whole arm stings. Tears start to stream down his face
Silence.
The rage dissipates as soon as it arrived and the blonde is left with the guilt of screaming at his mother. His mother who just wanted to start over. Had every right to. The blonde pre-teen presses his forehead to the door and croaks out in a final attempt, “Momma please…I’m so fucking tired…please just open the door…I—I’ll leave tomorrow morning. I won't bother you. I’ll sleep on the couch. You won't even know I'm there…I—I just need to sleep….Momma please I’m so sorry.”
No response. He notices the lights in the front window are out. She left him alone to fend for himself.
Again.
He sinks to the floor, the concrete cold, and presses his back up against the door.
He cries.
He cries, and cries, and cries. Until his head hurts and he feels disgusting.
And that’s the last time Yasuhiro lets anyone make him cry.