Chapter Text
Darkness. Not the comforting kind, but a suffocating, endless void. Silence pressed in from every side, so complete it felt loud in its absence. There were no sounds, no sights. Only sensation and dreadful thought. Maybe that was why the pain felt wrong, distant and intimate all at once. What was pain without shape or warning? Without screams to accompany it?
His senses had been taken. When, he couldn’t remember. The knowledge sat in his mind like a rotting fact, unquestioned yet nauseating.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t flinch. Couldn’t recoil. So he endured.
Pain bloomed through him in wet, invasive bursts, sharp pressure, tearing, burrowing. He felt hands, tools, things pressing into him, sliding beneath layers that should not have been breached. Poking. Prodding. Pulling. Every violation registered clearly, viciously, while his body remained mute and obedient. Rage churned, thick and bitter. He wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop.
The thought barely finished forming before it did.
The sensation vanished, cut off mid-agony, as if someone had simply lost interest. The sudden absence left him reeling, hollow. It felt unreal. Like a dream stitched together from pain and panic.
He tried to open his eyes.
Did he still have eyes?
At first there was nothing. Then the darkness peeled back in sluggish layers, replaced by a viscous wash of red. His vision swam, distorted, as though his eyes were submerged in fluid. Shapes bled into one another until they settled into something recognizable.
A room.
He knew this place. The realization curdled in his stomach, if he still had one. Yes. He had been here before. They had brought him here. They had worked on him.
They.
The word felt wrong, unfinished. He couldn’t picture faces. Only intent.
He blinked. The motion sent a dull ache rippling through what remained of him. He tried to move an arm.
Nothing.
No resistance. No weight. No limb answering his command.
Panic surged. He reached for another arm. A leg. Anything. Nothing would respond. With agonizing effort, he shifted his gaze downward and what he saw made something inside him fracture.
A dark, swollen mass. Flesh fused into itself, slick and uneven, pulsing faintly as if struggling to remember how to live. Skin, or what seemed to be skin, was stretched thin, red and mottled, veins crawling beneath the surface like trapped worms. Bones stretched beyond human limits that almost protruded from the dark red flesh. There were no clear edges, nothing human about it. What had he become?
—
“So, how was work yesterday?” Tom asked, his voice careful in that familiar way Shizuo had come to recognize.
Shizuo noticed it immediately. Tom always spoke like that around him. Measured, cautious, as if each word had been weighed beforehand. Shizuo didn’t take offense to it. If anything, he understood. Tom had a habit of smoothing things over, of stepping in before Shizuo’s temper had the chance to spiral. It was irritating sometimes, but it worked. Shizuo preferred that to people who poked and prodded just to see him snap.
“It was calmer than usual,” Shizuo said. “Not many people go out drinking on a Tuesday night.” He shrugged and brought his cigar to his lips, drawing in smoke before exhaling it slowly. Watching it drift away helped him think.
“I bet they don’t,” Tom replied, the hint of amusement in his voice. “Longest job you’ve had. You like it there?”
Shizuo considered the question for a moment. The bar was loud most nights, full of drunks and idiots looking for trouble, but it was steady work, and the routine did him some good. “It’s not the worst job I’ve had,” he said finally. “Kasuka bought me a bunch of uniforms for it anyway. I don’t really want to disappoint him by getting fired.”
The thought settled heavily in his chest. As long as Kasuka was proud of him, Shizuo figured he could put up with just about anything.
Tom nodded at that, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful. Shizuo could tell when Tom was choosing his next words carefully, there was always a slight pause, like he was testing the ground before stepping forward.
“Kasuka worries about you,” Tom said quietly, knowing Shizuo’s brother could be a sore subject at times. “Probably more than he lets on.”
Shizuo snorted quietly. “Yeah. He always does.” He tapped ash from his cigarette, eyes following it as it fell. “That’s why I try to keep things… under control at work. As much as I can, anyway.”
“You’re doing better,” Tom replied, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up. “I’ve noticed.”
Shizuo glanced at him, surprised despite himself. Praise wasn’t something he heard often, especially not about his temper. “Yeah?”
Tom gave Shizuo a smile. “You haven’t mentioned throwing anyone through a wall in months.”
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to,” Shizuo muttered. Still, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He could hear Tom let out a breath of laughter in response. “Bartending helps. Keeps my hands busy. Gives me something to focus on besides other people being idiots.”
“That’s good,” Tom said. “Routine can be pretty grounding.”
Shizuo let that sit for a moment before returning the question, eyes narrowing slightly. “What about you? How was your work?”
Tom’s expression shifted, just a fraction. Not enough that anyone else might catch it, but Shizuo had known him long enough to notice. “Same as always,” Tom said lightly. “Long hours. Nothing worth talking about.”
Figures, Shizuo thought. Tom never talked about his job. Whatever he did at that pharmacy really seemed to bother him sometimes. But Shizuo didn’t push. He understood how to respect people’s boundaries if anything. Besides, Tom was pretty quick to change the subject each time it was brought up.
“Long hours suck,” Shizuo said instead. “At least I get free drinks out of mine.”
Tom laughed softly at that, and for a while, the conversation drifted into easier territory, quiet complaints, shared silences, and the kind of understanding that didn’t need many words.
The conversation drifted, thinning out until only the quiet remained. Shizuo didn’t mind it. Silence was easier than most things. It gave his thoughts room to wander.
He glanced at Tom without really looking at him, memory doing most of the work. He’d known him a long time. Long enough that it was hard to remember when Tom hadn’t been there, hovering at the edges of his life with that calm voice and steady presence. Back when Shizuo was younger, angrier, when every day felt like it might end with something broken, usually furniture, sometimes people. Tom had seen all of that, but he still stuck around.
He remembered this time when they were back in school. Before things got complicated, Shizuo’s reputation followed him everywhere.
He could still see it: the cracked pavement behind the school, the smell of dust and rusted metal, a knot of delinquents crowding too close. The kind you’d see anywhere. They’d been loud. Laughing. Saying obscene things they thought were funny. Provoking him. Daring him to fight. Insulting his little brother.
He remembered the heat rushing to his head, fists clenching before he even realized he’d stopped listening. One shove. That was all it took. One hand grabbing his collar, another idiot stepping forward like he had something to prove.
Shizuo was ready. More than ready. He could already feel it, bones breaking, bodies hitting the ground, the familiar relief that came right before the consequences caught up.
Then Tom was there.
Not in front of him, Tom never put himself directly in harm’s way, but close enough that Shizuo noticed. A hand on his sleeve. Light. Firm. Incredibly grounding.
“Hey,” Tom had said, voice calm, almost bored. “Teachers are doing rounds right now. You really want to deal with that?”
Shizuo remembered scoffing, yanking his arm back. But Tom didn’t stop talking. He never did.
He talked to the delinquents too. Told them it wasn’t worth it. That they’d picked the wrong day, the wrong place, the wrong person. He made it sound logical. Inevitable. Like walking away was their idea to begin with.
And somehow.. somehow it worked.
The delinquents muttered, backed off, pride bruised but bodies intact. The tension drained out of the air, leaving Shizuo standing there with his heart pounding and nowhere to put all that anger.
Tom had just adjusted his glasses and sighed. “You owe me one,” he’d said, like he’d just stopped a minor inconvenience instead of a full-blown disaster.
Shizuo hadn’t thanked him. But he remembered the feeling. The strange, unsettled quiet afterward. The realization that Tom could pull him back from the edge without force. Without fear. Even back then, Tom had been doing the same thing he did now. Staying. Talking him down. Cleaning up the messes Shizuo had yet to make.
“We should get sushi together sometime,” Tom said, turning toward him with an easy, friendly smile. “I haven’t seen Simon in a while. It could be fun.”
Shizuo’s response came a little too fast. “That sounds nice. You’re free on Fridays, right? How about next week?”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He cleared his throat and forced himself to slow his breathing, irritation flickering at his own reaction. It wasn’t a big deal. Friends did this all the time. Made plans, grabbed food, caught up. There was nothing special about it. So he had no reason to feel that small spark of anticipation settling in his chest.
Tom didn’t seem to notice anything off. He nodded, pleased. “Yeah, Fridays work for me. Next week it is.”
“Good,” Shizuo said, a bit more gruff than he intended. He looked away, focusing on nothing in particular, hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t good at this, at sitting with emotions that didn’t come with a clear outlet. Anger was easy. This quiet warmth wasn’t.
There was a brief pause between them, comfortable but weighted in a way Shizuo couldn’t quite place. He was suddenly very aware of how close Tom was standing, of the familiar steadiness of him, the way he always stayed just within reach without crowding. It made something in Shizuo’s chest tighten, just slightly.
“Well,” Shizuo said finally, breaking the moment, “I should get going.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got a shift at the bar. Can’t be late.”
Tom smiled again. “Yeah. Don’t want Kasuka’s investment going to waste.”
Shizuo huffed, already turning away. “See you around, Tom. And..” He hesitated, just for a second. “Next Friday.”
“Next Friday,” Tom echoed.
Shizuo walked off before he could say anything else, the familiar pull of routine calling him back to work. But the thought of next week stayed with him, lingering longer than he’d expected, steady and quiet. Something he didn’t bother trying to shake as he walked.
–
The bar was already loud by the time Shizuo clocked in, the low roar of voices blending with clinking glasses and the hum of music that never quite drowned anything out. He took his place behind the counter, rolling his shoulders once as if shedding the rest of the day. Work helped with that. There were rules here. Motions to follow. Bottles to line up just right. He wiped down the counter, lined up clean glasses, and focused on the simple rhythm of it all. Pour, slide, collect payment. Don’t think too much.
The drunk customer had been there since before Shizuo arrived. Shizuo noticed him right away. The way he leaned too hard on the bar, the way his laughter came half a second too late, like he was chasing the conversation instead of keeping up with it. At first, it was just annoying. Slurred words, a little too loud, asking for another drink before he’d finished the last one. Shizuo served him water instead, flatly explaining the house rules. The man complained, of course, but he drank it. Shizuo counted that as a win.
An hour passed. The bar got fuller, the air warmer. Shizuo stayed busy, grateful for it. Every time the drunk guy opened his mouth again, calling Shizuo “big guy,” asking if he worked out, laughing at his own jokes. Shizuo felt the familiar heat stir in his chest. He kept it down. Focused on the counter beneath his hands, on Kasuka’s voice in the back of his mind, on the fact that this job mattered. He answered curtly, professionally, and moved on to the next customer.
It got worse when the man started knocking his glass against the bar, demanding attention. Once. Twice. Again. Each sharp tap felt like a jab straight into Shizuo’s skull. Shizuo stopped, took a slow breath through his nose, and met the man’s bleary eyes. He told him, as calmly as he could manage, that he needed to stop. That he was disturbing other customers. That if he wanted another drink, he’d have to wait like everyone else. His voice stayed level, even when the man laughed and leaned closer, breath heavy with alcohol.
The man said something then. Something stupid, something disrespectful. Shizuo didn’t even remember the exact words later, only the tone. Mocking. Confident in the way only very drunk people were, convinced there would be no consequences. Shizuo felt the line snap. The careful balance he’d been holding onto all night finally gave way, anger surging up fast and bright, drowning out everything else.
Shizuo slammed his hands down on the bar, the sound cutting through the noise of the room like a crack of thunder. He was half-suprised the bar didn’t split in half. The music seemed quieter after that. Conversations stalled. He leaned forward, eyes hard, and told the man, slowly and painfully clearly, that he was done for the night. That he was leaving. Now. There was no shouting, no wild movement, but the threat sat heavy in the air all the same. The drunk man froze, bravado evaporating as reality finally caught up to him.
Someone helped usher the man out before things could go any further. Shizuo stayed where he was, fists clenched against the counter, breathing hard. The wood creaked faintly under the pressure of his grip. He stared at the spot where the man had been standing, jaw tight, ears ringing with the echo of his own pulse. It took effort not to move. To not follow, to not finish what had nearly started. He could still feel it buzzing under his skin, that familiar, violent energy with nowhere to go.
“Hey.” His manager’s voice cut in, careful but firm. Shizuo didn’t look up right away. “Take five. Actually, take ten.”
Shizuo finally released the counter, hands trembling slightly as he straightened. He nodded once, short and stiff, not trusting himself to speak. He shrugged on his coat and pushed through the back door before anyone else could try to talk to him, the cold night air hitting him all at once. It helped. A little. The sharp chill burned his lungs as he inhaled deeply, grounding in a way the bar never could. He paced a few steps, then stopped, pulling his phone from his pocket without really thinking about it.
Tom answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” Tom said. “Everything okay?”
Shizuo didn’t bother pretending. “No,” he replied bluntly. His voice was rough, anger still threading through it. “I almost lost it. Some drunk asshole wouldn’t shut up. They kicked him out before I did something stupid, but,” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “I’m outside. On break.”
Tom didn’t interrupt. He never did. He let Shizuo talk, let the words spill out in uneven bursts. He spoke about the customer, about the noise, about how hard he’d tried to keep it together. When Shizuo finally fell silent, breath fogging in the cold, Tom spoke again, voice low and steady.
“You did the right thing,” Tom said. “You stopped. You walked away. That counts.” A brief pause. “Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose. Slow.”
Shizuo scoffed quietly but did it anyway. Once. Twice. The tension eased by degrees, like pressure slowly being let out of a sealed room. Tom kept talking, grounding him like a therapist. Asking him where he was, what he could see, how the night air felt. It worked. Somehow it worked. Shizuo leaned against the brick wall, eyes closed, letting Tom’s voice soothe him.
“…Thanks,” Shizuo muttered after a while. The word felt inadequate, but it was all he had. There was something comforting about knowing Tom had picked up without hesitation, like Shizuo taking up space in his life was just a given. “I’ll be fine. Just needed to cool off.”
“I know,” Tom replied gently. “Call me after your shift, yeah?”
Shizuo hesitated for half a second. “Yeah,” he said, softer than before. “I will.”
He hung up and stood there a moment longer, the anger finally ebbing into something manageable. When he headed back inside, shoulders still tense but steady, the bar no longer felt like it was closing in on him. The night wasn’t over, but he had Tom’s phone call to look forward to, so he could manage.