Chapter Text
It started because Takiishi Chika walked away from someone who wouldn't take no for an answer.
They were standing in the middle of the high school courtyard and they were definitely not alone. Takiishi chose to ignore the prickling stares of people who think this is their business tingling the back of his neck. Perhaps if Umemiya knew how to backup or lower his voice they would be less obvious but alas, here they were. And he had a split second to decide if he was going to step back and keep ignoring whatever it was that Umemiya's been trying to offer him, or throw the first punch.
For the sake of clarity, Takiishi'd never laid eyes on the white haired guy before, so as far as he knew, he didn't differ much from the others before him who didn't belong in his universe and who had devoted so very much of their lives clinging desperately to the mere idea of real power. So much so that they never even know they had it in them till they were standing over their first body with their bloody fists.
Anyway.
"If I win, you gotta join me." Said the guy with a brave smile. And he has one of the brightest smiles you'd ever see. So vibrant it began to merge with every living thing, radiating, resonating, elevating... It was far too bright for Takiishi who said nothing and it sounded like 'No'.
Unfortunately, or so he told himself, the faceless white pawn was ruled by his resolutions. And so the choice was made. It happened so quickly that by the time Takiishi knew what he was doing, his body had reacted without his say so, going by rote instinct and punching a face he couldn't even see with his eyes open. A color by numbers affair that got less and less interesting the more times he played it out. Or so he thought.
Drip... Drip...
The droplets of red were Takiishi's and so was the silence that followed. It was the moment he knew. There's something in Umemiya. Something that moved his body: All bloody remains that just refused to stay down. Something so very ineffable. Extremely, unimaginably, decidedly bizarre. Something so youthful in him. So viciously full of life, of vitality. He's all heat, all fight. All living, breathing, messy life.
And Takiishi stood then —grinning because doing anything else wouldn't make any damn sense— wondering why was this guy so very adamant about making his life harder than it had to be. Slightly annoyed, slightly amused, he pushed away from another flying fist.
Umemiya Hajime, a young man thriving with fifteen years of age and lots of hope rolling down in waves from his bloody, adrenaline infused hands. Hands that kept breaking Takiishi's ribs and bruising his skin and begging for his attention again and again and again until he can no longer pretend the guy doesn't exist. Umemiya who smiled at him, but he smiled at everyone and breathed right there beside him, far too human and far too real.
A beautiful artwork, covered in red and purple and blue, with snot and blood staining his broken, his beaten and messed up face. He wasn't speaking much anymore, nothing of importance to Takiishi anyway who only cared for the sprinkles of feeling something for the first time in years that brought him up to a never ending high. He had never felt so good. And had never felt such suffocating hunger for the feel of hands on him before, trying to peel away at his skin and finding that there was nothing to peel.
Takiishi looked towards Umemiya. At Umemiya, whose eyes contained wishes for change. They were hungry, they were happy. They shone just like his own. And he felt his lips twitching again. He was always smiling when he fought the bastard. There was nothing happening here that he can’t smile about. It was as good as hacked straight into his face.
That was over a year ago, technically two years now. His hair had been shorter back then, baked and dried out by bleach and barely long enough to cover his ears, framed a face that looked both steely and soft —Weird combo— and a pair of distant golden eyes. He settled on watching from afar as Umemiya kept destroying his expectations, reducing the once feral Furin High School delinquents into mere obedient cowards. And what good actors they've all been, in their matching jackets and perfectly noble ethics, giving off the impression of unity in a world where unity never existed.
The way forward for Takiishi is so obvious —Which is hilarious to him, properly laughable, not just the kind of mild humour he’s heard from people around him— Out of the building, away from 'Bofurin' and what it represents. Away from Umemiya and a year long fight with no definitive winner. Seems appropriate.
"Man, I'll surely miss this place. Won't you, Takiishi?" Asked someone trailing closely behind him. He’s tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, with regular features. He looks like he could be anyone. But he isn’t anyone. He’s someone who keeps following him around. Appeared one day and never left.
Will he miss this place? Probably. Maybe. Perhaps not. He shrugged. Didn't want to think about it.
His hair has grown long since the day he left, falling softly against his back in waves of reds and yellows on the tail ends. Like true flames. The black pawn from before spent a long time raiding drug stores in search of the chemicals that would do the job right. It took even longer to get the colors to his liking.
Anyway.
Dark golden eyes slide over the now-tattooed man to his right who has the ability to say so much yet so little at the same time. But Takiishi has a lot of practice at not really listening to what he's saying. He’s focused on the food stands in front of him, anyway. His own responses, if he ever does respond, are short, noncommittal. He must be in an indulging mood.
That's dangerous.
Especially when the dark-haired guy knows that, so he discards every filter he so carefully created, and jumps between conversations as if he’s not already really fucking hard to listen to.
That's dangerous as well.
A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance and Takiishi continues listening to the man talk about nothing very interesting. Until he hears something. And he smiles.