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TW:
DEPICTIONS OF OBSESSIVE DRINKING, DRUGS, AND CHILD HARM ARE VERY PROMINENT IN THIS STORY. YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGHLY WARNED!!
The Disciplinary Committee club room was as lively as ever, but not for the sake of something good or pleasant.
It seemed to be on the opposite scale, actually, due to it being a scandal.
Not that you could even really CALL anything at their school a 'scandal', in Hirano Taiga's opinion; it was a student acting up and being a fool, as usual, doing something they weren't supposed to do.
"Really, Hirano, it gets quite bothersome from time to time when you have to correct people about things they know aren't allowed," Hirano's friend, Hanzawa Masato, sighed heavily as they organized paperwork for upcoming events for the club later that month. "Seriously, how hard could it be to follow simple rules?"
As the other cautiously reviewed each paper to make sure nothing was out of order, he asked, "Hard for some, I guess. What was the situation?"
Hanzawa glanced at him, a deep blue iris making an occasional appearance. "You haven't heard about it at all? It seems as if it's all people can talk about right now," he said, the tone in his voice unrecognizable.
But that seemed to be the overall moral of Hanzawa's character, anyway.
Hirano shook his head. "I don't tend to listen to rumors or anything like that."
The dark raven-haired one shrugged, knowing that was true.
Reading papers while tapping his pen, Hanzawa told his friend, "An underclassman brought an alcoholic beverage inside the building. He thought it would be funny to pull it out in the halls, and one of the committee members caught him, reporting it swiftly."
At the alcohol mention, Hirano's chest tightened, uncomfortable at the topic.
These kinds of discussions always brought back unpleasant memories that he wished to forget, trying to bury them under the knowledge that would help him in the future.
Either way, he needed to get over it. He was about to go to college soon, where people got wasted for the love of the game.
Although that didn't make any sense to him.
There was nothing fun or exciting about a house that smelled like Yamazaki.
The heavy, still half full scotch glass shattered directly above Hirano's head, raining sharp, heavy shards onto his shoulders as well as the wetness of the drink.
A split second later, before he could remotely gain his bearings, a rough grip dragged him by his forearm right out of his chair, throwing him onto the hard floor.
The skin of his knees scraped raw against the grit of the floor.
“Get up! You’re just like your pathetic mother, hiding like a coward!” A heavy, booted foot slammed violently into his hip multiple times, knocking the wind completely out of him and leaving him gasping for air on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and the plip plip plip of his blood landing on the wooden planks, while his vision blurred with tears.
His father still shouted above him, ignorant to his only son's pain. His words were slurred and terrible; relentless.
Hirano saw his mom a few feet away from his body, staring, before he drifted into unconsciousness, which was considered bliss.
He knew his mom wasn't going to save him.
She never did.
"I see," the blonde replied slowly, letting himself get absorbed in the stack of information in front of him. He forced himself to swallow the rising bile in his throat. The way he held each piece of paper was deadly; his fingers clutched the sides like they were going to bite him if he didn't hold them aggressively.
Hanzawa immediately noticed Hirano's unease, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he nodded, and continued to do his own tasks, checking in silently on Hirano every few minutes.
But no matter how many times he thought he was efficiently doing it, Hanzawa couldn't hear nor see the mess that was Hirano's brain.
His mind brought back things he didn't want bring up; like the scent of the liquor on his dad's breath, or watching his father snort line after line of cocaine, or getting hit for the smallest shit, or or or or or or-
It wouldn't stop.
With that, Hirano apologized to Hanzawa, leaving the meeting room and practically tripping over his own feet, because if he stayed in there any longer, he'd probably fucking explode on the spot.
He just needed to go to his safe space.
The hallway outside the Disciplinary Committee room was a blur of muted colors and shifting shadows. Hirano didn’t run, but his stride was frantic, his shoes striking the squeaky ground with a heavy, uneven rhythm.
His fingers, still stiff from clutching the paperwork, dug sharply into the palms of his hands that were around his bag, using the small puncture of pain to keep the phantom smell of Scotch from entirely swallowing his senses.
By the time he reached the door to his dorm room, his breathing was shallow, as if he couldn't get enough of the air that surrounded him. Hirano used a shaking hand to open the door, quickly stepping inside and slamming the door accidentally; the sound startling himself.
The silence of the room hit him like a brick
It was a stark contrast to the chaotic, shouting of his unfortunate childhood memories.
Here, there was no sound of shattering glass, no heavy boots banging relentlessly against skin.
There was only the soft footsteps of those in the hall and the familiar, clean scent of laundry detergent and subtle sweetness of candy.
Hirano slid down the back of the door until his ass hit the floor, burying his face in his knees as he wrapped his arms around his legs like he was a fetus.
He was safe.
He knew he was safe.
But as the first sob finally broke past the tightness in his chest, his brain refused to let go of the dark, suffocating mess it had dragged him into.
It dragged him right back to the static, useless image of his mother standing by the kitchen counter.
He remembered the exact way she would cross her arms, turning her gaze toward the window as if the hum of the traffic outside was more interesting than the sound of her own son choking back his cries.
The silence of his dorm room felt identical to her silence back then which was a passive, crushing emptiness that offered absolutely zero protection. Even now, years later, the memory of her useless, uncaring eyes felt like a second abandonment.
The memory retreated at it's own pace, leaving Hirano hollow and empty.
Then, the sharp click of the door lock interrupted the crushing quiet.
Hirano stiffened, his breath hitching as the door pushed against his back. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees, trying to clear the entryway, his tear-blurred vision catching Akira Kagiura's brunette hair that was a bit brighter due to the lights.
"Hirano-san?" Kagiura asked, confused at first, but instantly becoming worried. His bag dropped on the floor - a dull sound - as he crouched, sitting on the floor as well, closing the door behind him. "What's wrong?"
The other tried to swallow the rising lump in his throat, but another broken, ragged breath made its way past his lips instead. Giving up on trying to stay strong, he caved into his distraught, reaching out, his fingers gripping the fabric of Kagiura's uniform shirt.
Understanding instantly, Kagiura closed the remaining distance, wrapping his arms securely around Hirano and pulling him flush against his chest, finally delivering the grounding weight Hirano had been running toward as the blonde wailed about how life was so incredibly unfair, and how his past made no room for his future.
Kagiura didn't say a word. He just held his boyfriend, letting him get all his pent up emotions out.
Hirano was so thankful to have someone like him in his life and not the man that used to make him shrivel and hide.
He was finally free.