Chapter Text
After cremating and burying Keicho, Okuyasu would spend countless sleepless nights ruminating about what it must have felt like to die. One moment his brother was alive and breathing and talking—crying, and the next he was just…not. Was it quick? How much did he suffer? How long did he feel the electricity course through his muscles before lights out? Did the pain fade away slowly, or was it a snap, like turning off the TV? What did it feel like to know that you were leaving this life, and there was nothing you could do to stop it? What were his last thoughts? Were they of Okuyasu, of how much he let him down? What happened after?
Where was he now, if anywhere? Did he see anything? Hear anything? That was stupid. He couldn’t see or hear at all. He was dead. And he was never coming back. Everything that he was; gone forever.
Rain hit his face, and he felt arm and lightheaded. It wasn’t like the humid, unrelenting heat of these last few weeks; where his skin would sweat under his uniform, and he’d turn to his friends to suggest some ice cream or a trip to the beach. This warmth was oddly comforting, like a blanket his mom would drape over him if he accidently fell asleep on the couch— the warmth he'd feel as he was lovingly carried up to his room and tucked in. The comparison was surprising; he didn’t think he would know what that felt like. For a moment he thought he heard a feminine voice, soft and quiet but doting.
The shock of the explosion thankfully numbed the pain, but he knew it was bad. In summary: uh… his entire midsection was missing. His charred intestines mingled with the grass at his back. Blood gurgled in his throat and a little dribbled down his chin, but he was drowning; unable to spit the rest of it out. In fact, he couldn’t move at all. Broken spine, maybe, but he wasn't a doctor. Thoughts, muddy and incoherent, drifted through his mind. How could the air breathe fire? What just happened? I don’t feel so good. Am I dying? I think I'm dying.
White started creeping into the edges of his vision. The red of the fence beside him was now a dull grey. Everything began to sound muffled, like his ears were stuffed with the dense grey clouds above him. His name was being called, followed by a scream, more voices, the rain, the rustle of the trees. All outside sounds slowly deadened until all he had were his own thoughts, which he felt were also dwindling, no matter how much his brain fought to stay alive.
“It just means that life isn’t that easy.” Another voice echoed in his head, sounding distant like a dream. This one was masculine; low and grave with what sounded like self-reproach. He felt heavy, sinking further and further into the ground. He couldn’t see anything anymore. Were his eyes closed? He didn’t remember closing his eyes. “And, more than anything, I have no way of saving people who’ve already died.”
You’re wrong. Okuyasu thought, you’re wrong. He’ll fix me.
He emptied his lungs, and then didn't inhale again.
Trees surrounded him, barely visible in the darkness. It was a little jarring at first, but he accepted it fairly quickly. You don’t typically question where you are in a dream. Feeling light on his feet, he did the only thing he could do amid the darkness: he walked, not knowing which way was up, down, left, or right. He just went onwards. Maybe he’d walk forever, lost and alone. Praying for someone to find him, to tell him what to do, where to go from here.
The light that flashed between the trees made him squint, but he kept toward it. When his eyes adjusted, a silhouette greeted him, standing in a doorway at the top of a rickety, familiar staircase, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Odd. Dust particles danced about the apparition’s dark uniform, floating around his blond braid and glittering as they reflected the light. Stopping at the foot of the staircase, he looked up.
The figure turned to him slowly, ghostly. Keicho. No bows, no arrows. Just Keicho.
Okuyasu was a baby deer in headlights; eyes wide and jaw slack. His brother didn’t say anything at first, just looked down at him with the stern, disciplinary expression he’s always worn. All of a sudden he was a helpless child again, craning his head up towards his big brother.
“Where are you going to go from here, otōto?”
Okuyasu’s response was instinctual. Keicho: reliable and strong. Who he’d always lean against, who he always turned to for answers, who he trusted to make the right calls. Finally his brother was here, after weeks of missing him, of torment, of indecision, of countless moments of wishing if only big bro were here to tell me what to do. Keicho would turn back into the light, and Okuyasu would walk up the stairs after him. Just like he always had. And he would be taken care of. He’d be safe.
“I’m gonna follow you.”
His foot lifted to the first step, but his heart wasn’t into the movement. Something in the air shifted, and for some bizarre reason Okuyasu couldn't follow through with his words. Why was it so hard to continue? How easy would it be to just lift one foot after the other towards the figure at the top. Instead he just stood there, staring at his shoes. When he raised his head to Keicho for guidance, his brother gave him a sad smile, the softest smile Okuyasu had ever seen him wear. With a shake of his head, Keicho spoke again.
“Okuyasu, you're the one who has to decide where you're going to go.”
He took a moment to try and gather his thoughts somewhat, but his heart butted in, commanding. It showed him smiling faces, he heard ugly laughter on the classroom windowsill with the Sun at his back, he smelled coffee in the morning, sunflowers in the afternoon, and delicious Italian food in the evening. The weight of an arm draped lazily on his shoulders, clever eyes squinting happily at him. A dark pompadour bumped chummily against his forehead, fragrant hairs tickling his face.
Clarity hit like a sack of bricks. Those blue eyes, normally so deep they appeared violet, were now dulled by the rainy grey clouds and looking at him like his world had just fallen apart. Then they drifted out of view as he was flown over the fence, replaced by the leer of yellow cat eyes and the cocky stance of a serial killer. His home was in danger. His friends were in trouble. How could he possibly leave them behind? There was a town that had shaped him into who he was, a town that he found a home in. People that he vowed to protect to the very end. People who were crazy enough to love him, and who he found himself loving in return. Something that he’d never thought possible. If he went with Keicho, he’d never see any of that again, and the thought made him grief-stricken.
Okuyasu closed his eyes, slow and remorseful, not able to look at Keicho knowing what he was about to say next. He knew what he truly wanted, needed, but to voice it outloud… Was he allowed to? To voice his desire, his own decision just this one time? Would he let his brother down? Would he be angry? Would he be rejected and scolded for thinking this way?
“I wanna go back to Morioh.”
He decided to live.
His eyes opened to the ceiling of a stranger’s house, cigarette smoke in the air and tears running down the sides of his face, pooling in the shells of his ears. A feeling of overwhelming loneliness was within him so intense he had no idea what to do with it. But that would have to wait. Everything was momentarily forgotten when a distant explosion lit a fire beneath him and he got up.
---
“Ya don’t gotta rub it in my face, y'know.”
“Who shit in your cereal this morning, huh? I thought you’d be at least a little happy for me.”
Fighting wasn’t something Josuke and Okuyasu normally did. In fact, in their couple years of friendship, Okuyasu could count on one hand the amount of times they blew up at each other like this. But when given two kids with unstable temperaments that are in their last weeks of high school, lost and uncertain and scared about where life was going to take them, things could get a little explosive.
Especially when one of them was terrified to be left alone while his best friend and crush was going off to school in another city. And when backed into the “expressing feelings” corner, he bit.
“Sure…” Okuyasu rolled his eyes. “But not when you keep goin’ on and on and on about it.” In truth, it just kind of hurt to hear how excited Josuke was to leave while Okuyasu had no choice but to stay behind. He loved Morioh, don’t get him wrong. He had a stable enough part time gig with Tonio, a house that no longer leaked or smelled, friends, lottery winnings (albeit slowly shrinking). He didn’t have the smarts to go to college or university, no matter how hard he had tried to boost his grades. And his dad… that was another layer to the cake.
Josuke, however, was a different story. Nursing? How kewl was that? Okuyasu was truly happy for him. But imagining Morioh without Josuke in it? Imagining a world without Josuke by his side? Okuyasu was… sad… and Josuke was presumably thrilled about how he was finally able to get him out of his luscious hair. Happy and sad. Ugh, his head was starting to hurt. He could hardly organize his own feelings, let alone vocalize them to Josuke.
“You that jealous?” Josuke spat at him. “Typical. Gotta make everythin’ about you. Always complainin’ about how sad yer life is.”
“Jealous?! Oh, boohoo.” Okuyasu challenged as he spoke in a mock whiney voice. “And I'm pretty boy Josuke, I have a nice house with a nice mom who kisses my boo-boos and a dad that's payin’ for me ta go to college.”
He really needed to stop. “You always whine about yer mom bein’ a hard ass, or how the biggest problem you've ever had is when you run outta pomade. At least you have a mom to ground you! Urrggh, yer such a spoiled little brat.”
The look Josuke gave him in response sent shivers up Okuyasu’s spine, and the regret immediately made his face hot. Josuke’s pomp was standing on end, fists were clenched, and the cement at his feet warped as it melted and reformed. For a moment Okuyasu was sure he was gonna get decked.
Instead Josuke let out a yell of frustration, kicking an unlucky bike in the alleyway they usually took as a shortcut to their street. His shoulders hunched, the sunlight from the opening at the end of the alley casted large shadows on the ground. It wasn’t a quiet alleyway, by any means. The sides were lined with bicycles, milk crates, and the occasional small restaurant. Walls were decorated with old graffiti and outdated posters. Above them, apartment balconies were made colourful by plants and drying laundry. A chasm between them appeared. Josuke wasn’t looking at him. Okuyasu really dug his own grave, didn’t he? Could he ever be normal?
“Is that what you think, man?” Josuke’s voice came out so faint Okuyasu almost missed it.
He was reluctant to answer. They had begun accumulating a small audience with their quarrel. Some walked out onto their balconies, some poked their heads out from doors and windows. One person seemed particularly annoyed with their noise. He appeared to be a chef of the restaurant he was emerging from; wiping his hands on his bright green apron and staring at him from behind Josuke with an open glare.
“Yo, can we—” He hurried towards the other, hoping to carry on their argument in a more private location. The next few moments happened too quickly for Okuyasu to react. The cook behind Josuke glowed with the telltale aura of a Stand. Suddenly a shape formed in front of him. It morphed into a snake; a long, tubelike being that reached to the second story windows around him, blocking his path to Josuke and the user. Slithering and spinning, a large head at one end twisted to regard him with eyes that never ended. Warped space and time swirled within its body, menacing and foreboding, and the air around him was displaced so violently it would have knocked him over if the snake hadn’t unhinged its jaw and swallowed him whole. The last thing to fall into his ears was Josuke calling his name before the mouth closed behind him.
Being ripped apart atom by atom was probably in Okuyasu’s top three worst feelings, way worse than exploding. The portal seemed never ending. He didn't lose consciousness through it all, somehow. Something was keeping him alive. It was like falling through a kaleidoscope, shifting colours and patterns flying past him. Some of these patterns coalesced into vaguely familiar shapes: houses, streets, vehicles. Multiplying, then disappearing in an instant. He was lost.
---
“Breakfast is ready, Okichi!”
The last atom fell back into place, and Okuyasu was in an unfamiliar room.
It was dark; hints of sunlight shone through the slits of the closed blinds. His head was killing him, and sitting up made it worse. Squinting, he was able to make out vague shapes. A dresser, a desk, a chair, a bookcase. A soft bed was below him, cozy blankets laid on his lap. Clothes, posters, books and boxes filled with keepsakes and secrets cluttered the room. It felt… homey. Lived in. This definitely wasn’t his room. His room, while adorned with things he had collected over the few years since moving to Morioh, was nowhere near this full.
Headache subsiding, he sat at the edge of the bed. Wait… what was that voice? Did he dream of it? Also, where the hell was he?
Something urged him to get up. Maybe it was the enticing smell of miso and salmon wafting through the room. Soft pajamas hung loose and comfortable around him, and he fussed with his collar to find it chewed up. That was more like him; most of his own shirts were chewed and torn, but when did he change? He didn’t remember going to bed. The rug sank beneath his bare feet as he padded into the hallway, feeling along the wall as he went. The staircase was close by, and a light shone at the bottom, illuminating the foyer.
The foyer where I sat, crying, waiting for my brother to come home from school.
Noises from below: soft voices bickering, cutlery, the sizzle of a pan. A man and a woman, adults. They nagged at the back of Okuyasu’s mind. He swore he knew them, it was on the tip of his tongue, and curiosity lured him down the steps. Picture frames scattered along the wall beside him, but he couldn’t make out any of the faces.
“Dear, put down that newspaper and eat your breakfast, for goodness sake.”
Okuyasu stopped in his tracks, still gripping the railing with white knuckles. That woman’s voice. He’s heard it before, somewhere. He needed to follow it.
Clutching his stomach to keep from throwing up, he slowly and painfully descended the stairs, creaking floorboards too loud in his ears. No running, no rushing. He was scared; like any sudden movement would make everything he was hoping for vanish, and he’d wake up from this dream. Pain welled in his bottom lip where he bit down to keep himself quiet.
Three people were in the kitchen, ready to dig into some appetising steamed rice, grilled salmon, and miso soup. They all glanced up at Okuyasu’s entrance.
This was the kitchen where I found my father writhing on the ground, face bubbling into something monstrous.
“There you are, sleepyhead!”
The man holding the newspaper was one that he often saw in his nightmares. His dad, who was human and very-not-green, looked at him with disinterest, quickly returning to his reading and cup of coffee. The other man sitting at the table was realigning his silverware, a habit he had since they were kids, with food portioned out on the plate in front of him and divided neatly; not a grain of rice out of place. Long, thin blond hair fell around his shoulders. Keicho. Alive. Was Okuyasu dead again?
The woman standing at the table, the one who just spoke, was beautiful. Her dark hair was tied back, a few strays curling at her ears. Her white sweater made her angelic. She was visibly older than how she was in the photo; wrinkles a little more pronounced, hair dulled with age. But Okuyasu recognized her. He saw her every day, frozen in time within the family portrait his mutated father could never part with. His mother’s deep brown eyes took him in.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
CHAPTER ART
