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Everything, everyday, everywhere is full of excitement.
Waking up and walking to school with his favorite person, surviving the school day with a few acquaintances, protecting his close friends during petty stand-attacks, going to work at a nice paying—simple job, then making it home—taking care of his father before falling into bliss all to start it all again…is his euphoria.
A continuous stream of music blasts from his alarm, his hand searches across his nightstand as his vision fulls and the sound grows louder.
He grumbles in dismay, his cheek against his pillow. “Mmm..where is it.?” it graces past something vibrating, something plastic; he slams his hand down on the top of it.
Listening to the sound dissolves, he pushes himself up with a grunt. “Six…[6:30AM]…perfect.” With a thud, his body flops back down, his arm yanks over his resting eyes. “Five more minutes…” his voice, lower than a whisper, pleads as he falls back into bliss.
{[7:00AM]? ’m up later than usual…} he tugs at his undershirt, staring at the water droplets decorating his purple top. Following his eyes up toward the mirror, he pulls his tooth brush out of his mouth—spitting into the sink. He looks better than usual, energized–full of life. He feels it too. {Gotta get back on my game; I can’t be late pickin’ up Josey..} rinsing his mouth out, then his face, he picks up his belongings scattered around his room and bathroom: his hair pick, extra belt, mint gum, uniform jacket, and backpack—leaving the last at the door and his uniform jacket hanging off of his shoulders.
Regularly, at this time, he would’ve been done with everything—making his way out the door.
As of right now, he's struggling to find a clean plate—having neglected them after getting off work late the day before. “Shitt…” slowly getting cold, breakfast sits upon the stove. His father sits at the table, staring with concern.
A cheeky grin stretches across his face after finally finding one–rinsing it off real quick, he shovels everything on his father’s plate. He never really eats his own food. “Bye papa—! Gotta get to Joseys, get some sleep er..whatever ya do when I’m not around!” He slips out the door—backpack in hand–locking it behind him after his father grunts in happiness—waving him a good-day.
His curls bounce as he makes it down the sidewalk to Josuke’s; maybe he shouldn’t have slept in later than usual.
He sits, resting at the front of Josuke’s house, taking a moment to catch his breath before looking up. from his bent over position, he finds Josuke staring right back at him, a surprised look on his face. “Josey~hey!” His accent blends the two words as he huffs them out; a blush creeping up his face.
“You…okay? You’re late, is everything fine?” He falls toward him in long strides, an ungloved hand reaching toward him; Okuyasu slaps it away in a playful manner.
“Why wouldn’t I be alright? I always am.” A cute grin spreads across his face as he grabs Josuke wrist, leading him inside the building.
“You sure? Your jackets hanging off your shoulders—you look really tired.” Josuke pouts, following him like a lost puppy.
His lips quiver as to hold something back; he doesn’t know what nor why. “I’m positive.”
“You really needa start gettin’ better sleep, Okuyasu..you look really tired.” Cold air blasts past the two as they reach the open door, making it inside; Okuyasu doesn’t let go of Josuke’s wrist, Josuke doesn’t pull away as they both slip off their shoes, then continue over to Josuke’s mother.
“Yo, Mrs Tomoko!” He cheers, unknowing of the concerned eyes staring at him.
“Okuyasu? I was worried about you.” Thrusting her hands on her hips, she turns; feigning anger.
“It was just’a few minutes.” Humilitly holds his tone, “Oh! Josey, ya’ still got that hair gel? I ran out of mine.” Only now realizing their intertwined hands, he slowly lets go.
Josuke’s eyes flicker down for a moment then back at him, “I..just ran out. Sorry.”
Okuyasu sighs in acceptance, “Nah, it’s good.” his palm finds Josuke’s shoulder, “I can go one day without my signature hairstyle!” giggling, he saunters away; a mischievous smile on his face.
If it were any other person, Josuke would’ve knocked the wind out of them; instead, he finds hisself fixing an out-of-place strand—driven by the flush on his face and the furrow of his brows.
Back on track, Josuke and Okuyasu walk to their bus stop, heavy chatter on their lips. All that was off schedule fades as Okuyasu looks up at Josuke’s side-profile.
{I envy this guy so hard..I’ve never been so jealous in my life.} He curses in his mind, fiddling with the neck of his shirt. Checking his watch, he notices the time. {..? [7:59AM]?? We’re ahead of schedule now…} feeling Josuke’s stare and the lack of commentary from his end, he focuses his attention back on him. He’s really red, like scarily red. Terror crosses Okuyasu’s face. “Josey..? Josey???” Without thinking, he slams his hands on Josuke shoulders—pulling him down to eye level. “Why’re ya’ so red?? Are ya’ okay?” Okuyasu stresses, Josuke only grows redder—pushing him away.
“Per-personal space dude..” his hair pricks, that only causes Okuyasu to feel even worse.
“Huh??? Yer tomato red—personal space my ass!”
“I am a-okay, Okuyasu. I promise you.” His flush tunes down, he brandishes an okay signal with his now-gloved hand. With how furrowed his brows are—Okuyasu’s surprised he barely has any wrinkles.
“I’m trustin’ ya’..” his tone was wary as they began to walk toward their bus stop once more. Throughout their travel—walking, then riding on a bus—Okuyasu can’t stop looking toward Josuke; Josuke can’t help but avoid his gaze, fantasizing: {How soft must his hair be…} as he stares out the window. Staring back at him is his own reflection and Okuyasu’s worried gaze stuck on him. {Why does he have to be so worried about me all the time..? I’ve never felt so flustered in my life than when he’s treating me..like this..} his flush grows even redder. He squeezed his eyes shut as he shifts into his palms. {Jeezz…Yasu, why do you make me feel this way!..?} he whines.
The mornings rather quieter than regular. Josuke's barely talking whereas Yukako and Koichi converse on the side. Okuyasu’s attention stays focused on Josuke while he talks with the other two.
Midday is quite obnoxious—delinquents causing scenes, clubs rummaging around the halls, kids skipping, y’know—slightly unusual for his quaint everyday life.
As the bell rang, waking Okuyasu up, he sluggishly packs his belongings into his bag—{What attack do they have for us today?} he barely laughs as he slaps his cheeks, forcing himself to wake up. {I’ve been offa’ my game all day! I gotta atleast get ta’ work normally..” Stepping down the hall, around the corner, then down the steps, he realizes: {Shitt, this doesn’t look right. Did I take the wrong stairwell??} he looks from right to left then back again. {Dang it..} people brush past him, trying to avoid even touching him as he leans against the wall next to the stairs. {This’s the long way, right? I could jus’ teleport outta here but there’re people around…} he ponders a bit before making the ‘harsh’ decision to trudge down the long path. {Imma hear it from Josey, aren’t I?}
He leans against the wall as he pulls his school shoe off—preparing to wear his others. His knee throbs, exertion having injured it long ago—leaving it without repair.
It’s not one to regularly hurt this bad, but today hasn’t been on Okuyasu’s side anyway—so of course it’ll act up. {Bleh.} he stomped down, fixing his heel into his shoe, {Maybe I should’ve untied it..too late now.} slamming his locker shut, a female voice walks up to him—a shaky manner to her tone.
“Hey ca—“
“Sorry but I’m not givin’ Josuke any more of y'alls cards; he got mad at me last time.” He crouches down, barely looking up at the girl, barely recognizing her voice. Leaning back up, his bag in his grasp, the girl flicks his forehead. “What the hell??—oh.”
“You know, that was the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said to me.” She crosses her arms, back pin-straight.
With a sheepish grin, he leans off the wall—still holding his forehead “Sorry…”
“Never make that mistake ever again.” He can’t tell if she’s actually angry or just playing with him…
{She must be really mad…} “Yukako, I’m sorry.” She turns toward the door, Okuyasu follows as she steps outside of it.
“Whatever, Okuyasu. Koichi ‘sent me’ to come get you since your boyfriend’s worried.”
“My huh??”
“Josuke, dipshit.”
“Oh, wow, you’re meaner today.”
“Because your boyfriend said that I was ‘following Koichi’s instructions like a dog’!” A snort almost escaped him before Yukako stops and stares into his soul, “Don’t laugh.”
A broken smile twitches on his face, his pitch high as he responds: “Is he wrong..?”
With a glare, she turns back around, speed-walking toward the double-doors. “You know I’m only nice to you because you’re Koichi’s best friends?”
“Nice??”
“Don’t test me.”
Josuke’s eyes basically light up as they focus on Okuyasu; Koichi catches the light bright as day—“So,” Koichi starts as they land amongst the two. “We’re alright today?”
Softening her tone, Yukako sniffled, “No, Koichi…this girl kept throwing ice at me in class.”
“What?” A mix of confusion and humor spread across Okuyasu’s face as he racks his brain on…how.
“How’d she get ice??” Josuke ask, obviously not hiding his humiliating tone.
“She’s a standuser—how else??? Oh my gosh, you two just love feigning ignorance!”
“And ya’ wanna fight ‘er because…she was throwin’ ice at ya?” Okuyasu cant believe his ears.
“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
…
“How’d you get punked like that?” Josuke criticizes.
“I got work ‘n that doesn't sound too dangerous, so, I’m out.” Okuyasu slips out of the huddle, ready to walk away into the crowd.
“Genius play right there.” Josuke flashes him a smile before turning back to the group.
“Just make it home safe, okay? You look really tired.” Koichi comments, staring up at him.
“Yeah, don’t die..or…I don’t know. I have nothing gracious to say to you.” Yukako shrugs. Flashing them a thumbs up, he makes his way home.
With no petty fights or anything to do with his friends after school; he makes it home earlier than usual—most of the time, he barely has any time to really get ready for work. Now with 3 hours to spare, he’d thought it better to get ready now than later.
{Dinner…what should I make? I’ve been barely cookin’ at home with how stressful life’s been—I bet paps’ll (pops will) enjoy somethin’ fresh!} he leaves his bag and shoes at the door before rising up the steps. {Paps should be asleep or watchin’ TV right now so I got some time..} leaving his bed-room door open, he rustles through his dressers for a plain black long-sleeve dress-shirt and any baggy black pants—his apron too, obviously. {I’m sure they’ll call if they need my help..} he turns around, only to be scared by his father: standing in the doorway. “Holy crap! Papa? What’re ya’ doin’ up here??” He droops his head with a sigh, an embarrassed pink clouding his face.
His father moves toward him with a stumble, Okuyasu reaches out to steady him—for no apparent reason, he snaps his eyes shut; his fingers twitch yet, the hold he has on his father never worsens. Mansaku grunts, confusion lacing the spew as he taps Okuyasu on the cheek with his soft hands. Caressing him?
Opening his eyes slowly, he hums in confusion. “I’m what?” The look on his father’s face pulls at his heart strings. His soft hands raise to the crevasses of Okuyasu’s eyes. “I’m not tired, papa..why does everyone keep sayin’ that?” He lets go of his father, grabbing his clothes, then holding them up to his chest as he rises. “Ya’ ready for some gyudon? I know it’s yer favorite!” His father fidgets with his arm, still lingering on their prior conversation. “Come on, I promise ya’ It'll be good!” Confidence ringing from his cheer, a flicker of silence holds before he comments: “I’m always alright, you know this.” Moving past his father toward the bathroom, he pats him on the head; a shy smile on his face.
The sound of water drips onto the counter as the meat and vegetables shimmer over the stove. For almost four minutes now, Okuyasu’s been leaning over the few plates drying before him; an almost blank look on his face.
His curls are wet and ties up, his black dress shirt–baggy yet his sleeves are pulled up—pressing against his arms. He’d never said it—Keicho had for him, but the scars cascading his wrists up to his arms really are pathetic. He’s mumbling something to hisself; from how far Mansku is from his son, he can’t hear whatever he’s saying..repeating.
On minute five, he promised himself to snap Okuyasu out of his trance; these moments have become far too common as of late.
Stumbling toward him, he grabs onto his leg, tugging at his shirt; grunting in worry. It takes a moment but Okuyasu turns toward his pleading eyes. “Do ya’ think I save enough time for ya’? For everyone? Am I just always workin’ to ‘em?” He basically whispers, Mansaku almost misses the question.
Mansaku cocks his head to the side in confusion; Okuyasu pats his head with a smile on his face. “Food almost done! Just’a few more minutes.” His smile turns to a silly grin. “Can ya’ set the table for me?” Mansaku waddles toward the plates, utensils, and cups.
“Uh—ya’ don’t gotta get me a plate. Imma eat somethin’ when I get—“ Mansaku grunts in anger, stomping his feet. It’s as if he’s yelling at him.
Okuyasu’s face twitches, he doesn’t get why. “Papa, I gotta get ta’ work..I don’t got time…” he pouts, his tantrum doesn’t go away. “I can bring some with me..?” He’s not as angry as before but that won’t cut it.
It’s good, his cooking has always been good. But ever since Keicho told him his cooking was nothing less than shit, he can’t get himself to eat it all the time. He regularly resorts to snacks or store-bought already-made foods.
Was it because he uses his mother’s recipes? There’s no way his cooking is that horrible.
Lifting a spoonful of broth to his mouth, he can feel his father eyes on him; his fill is noticeably smaller than his father’s—yet, he still can’t get himself to finish his plate. Swallowing it, he asks: “Do ya’ want the rest of mine? I have no-more time.” A cute smile spreads across his face; his father frowns. “Hey, one of these days I’ll take offa’ work ‘n eat with’cha! I promise” he holds out his pinky resting his elbow on the table, his father links his with Okuyasu’s.
Work went the same as always—cooking, cleaning, and serving at Tonios has never been boring. Always chaotic or calm, Okuyasu enjoys the sight—what Okuyasu didn’t enjoy was the constant questioning: “Are you okay?”, “Oh, sweetie, you need some sleep! You’re bleeding yourself dry!”, “Your eye bags are really deep.”, “Do me a favor and call out tomorrow.” The repetition is annoying—especially given that he’s sleeping well. Hell, he’s energized!
“Okuyasu! Thank you fer holdin’ Trussardi down fer me!” Tonio hurries beside him, pulling his jacket off. “I’ve been…” He starts, a cheery tone, “You look—“
“Exhausted?”
“Yah…are you alright? If you need ta’ call out, I wouldn’t mind..” ending concerned and wary.
“Like I’ve told everyone: I’m perfectly fine, I promise.” He turns toward Tonio, his eyelids rather heavy. “I actually feel really energized!” He points toward himself, one hand holding onto the cabinet next to him.
“Yer scarin’ me Okuyasu.” His frown deepens. “But, if you say so…” he doesn’t seem too sure, “You should get home though, it’s nearly midnight.” He tries at his best reassuring smile as Okuyasu waves him a goodbye.
{What happened ta’ all my energy?? I was alive at Tonios ‘n now I’m…I don’t even know.} he fiddles with his key, trying to get it into the lock; leaning his forehead against the door. He can hear his phone ringing from the inside, he couldn’t care less.
Finally hearing the lock click, he almost falls—only catching hisself moments after. {I gotta get ta’ bed!} he whines, slamming and locking the door behind him.
Bringing the phone to his ear, he answers in a groggily tone: “Nijimuras, yeah?”
Hearing Josuke’s voice on the other end calms his mind. [Hey, I just wanted to tell you right now instead of tomorrow—since…you’ll probably be mad at me if I do…] His tone, calm and caring, almost puts him to sleep—he’s glad he set his phone next to his couch.
“I’ll be mad.? About what?”
[Turns out we did need you.] Josuke laughs, [We—just now—finished fighting that girl!] Every word wakes Okuyasu up by the second.
“Ya’ huh??? Why didn’t ya’ tell me sooner?” His words are rather slurred—he’s still tired, but more alert. “Are ya’ guys home yet?”
[No actually.. I was gonna tell you—fuck, I just realized!]
“Huh??”
[I didn’t bring my car!! Ugh, we’re walkin home I guess. But anywa—]
“Can’t I jus’ ask yer mama to borrow it for ya’?”
…
[Okuyasu, you sound like you’re about to pass-out. No.]
“Where are ya’—first of all?”
[I’m not telling you, since you’ll go out and do some~~~] his voice teeters off as if he’d dropped the phone; instead of a thud, Okuyasu hears a mono-toned female voice.
[We’re still at school—what’s up with Josuke?? What’re you gonna die if you hafta drive out here?] Yukako criticizes, she seems close but still far—she probably holding the phone with her hair.
[Yuka, Okuyasu seems really tired; maybe we should just walk?]
[It’s an hour walk for Josuke, a half hour for you, and nearly a two hour walk for me. No—and once he gets here, since you two are so worried, Josuke can drive instead.]
The phone sounds closer, [Right, Okuyasu?]
…
[Hello—]
“Yeah yeah, I jus’ got the keys. Tell Josey, Mrs Higashikata’s really mad with him.”
[Just the news I was hoping for! Thanks.] the line falls short as Okuyasu waves Tomoko a goodnight. He forced his eyes open as he starts the exhaust. {Please lemme make it there, please.}
Pulling into the parking lot, Okuyasu notices that Josuke and Yukako are in the midst of a screaming match; Koichi’s off to the side, watching the two. Okuyasu couldn’t care less, the only two feelings he feels are energized and relief. He flashes the three with his front lights as he puts the car in park.
“Oku!!!” Koichi cries out in happiness, rushing to his door. “I missed you so much—these two are so annoying!!” Okuyasu steps out and picks Koichi up in a hug.
“What were they screamin’ about?”
“Josuke didn’t want you to come here, Yukako couldn’t care less about what he wanted, yada yada…” As Josuke and Yukako make it over to the two, Yukakos brows furrow.
“Now I get what you mean…shit..”
“Josey, ya’ look beat-up! I’m sorry y'all, I should’ve been there.”
“We’re alive aren’t we? We let you go anyways—who knew she’d beat-up Josuke like that.” Yukako snickers, side eyeing Josuke.
“I got beat-up because you couldn’t protect yourself worth a damn!” Josuke stresses, obviously still aggravated.
“Angers not a good-look on you.” Yukako pulls the back left door open then carries Koichi out of Okuyasu’s hands. “Can we go home now?”
For the sake of the others, Josuke swallows his anger and leads Okuyasu over to the passenger seat. “I’m driving us home, get some sleep while we get there.” His tone sounds final—Okuyasu doesn’t seem to have the mental strength to protest. Yukako slams the door behind her, Okuyasu opens the door and plops down into his seat. It was getting hard to stand up-right anyway.
The drive was calm yet slow. Koichi’s already snoring, leaning against the door next to him. Yukako watches him as she plays with his hair, silent joy radiating off of her. Josuke’s still angry but doesn’t want to disrupt the peace—they’re sure he’ll bring this up tomorrow. Okuyasu’s drifting off to sleep but keeps awaking–never in his life had he felt energized with droopy lids before..it's a strange mix. “Shit, Okuyasu, just go to sleep.” Yukako insists, “You look dead man.”
Josukes lets out a displeased sigh as the car slows to a stop. “Don’t you know how to…I don’t know, shut the hell up?”
“..I’m good man, safety first.” his smile twitches as he fights to keep it up–{What's up with my face??}
“‘Safety first!’” She giggles, “You’re gonna die, when was the last time you really slept?” She grabs at the back of Okuyasu’s chair, leaning on it.
“Yukako can’t you just shut up?? Jeez!” Yukako slams back as Josuke slams on the accelerator.
She mimics Okuyasu, “Wow, reckless driving. That’s new.” Okuyasu rests a hand on Josuke’s shoulders, trying to calm him down. Yukako can’t help but snicker.
“Yukako if you keep talking, I swear I’ll kick you out of this car right now.”
A grin spreads across her face. “I’m just trying to help, look at Okuyasu..he's about two sheep away!” Josuke grips onto the steering wheel, Okuyasu can’t stay up much longer, finally falling asleep.
Staring down at his bloodied, shaking hands, he can’t seem to muster anymore protests; he’d already failed—his brother never listened. What is he to do? It’s in his nature, he was made to be like this—feel like this—do this. No matter the overwhelming feelings, no matter the outcome.
“These people asked for it, Okuyasu.” A high, slow, and steady voice comments. “All we’re doing is using them—as they wanted us to.” The boy stands above the two of them, “You didn’t kill them anyway; you were too cowardly..” crouching down, the boy wraps his calloused fingers around an arrow shaft. At the bottom—almost shrouded by the flesh and blood enveloping it—lays a gleaming golden point. He tugs at the shaft of the arrow, yanking it out after a few continuous pulls.
Okuyasu can’t keep his composure, feeling the blood spray—covering his face, hair, shirt, everything. No tears drop, the only sound other than squirting is dry heaving.
His usual distinct look of contempt crosses Keicho’s face, “So many people you’ve erased, and this is your breaking point?” He cocks his head to the side, eyes flickering off of the younger boy in confusion. “Really? You couldn’t wait until we got home?”
The tapping of Keicho’s foot on the sharp gravel only intensifies his breakdown; he can’t feel anything coming out—he hadn’t eaten at all that day..in three days..in protest. His vision darkened—white spots clouding his sight, his mind.
“You’re tired, Okuyasu. Erase this man; then we can go home.” He falls into a crisscrossed position, using his shirt to wipe off the crimson covering the point. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, hungry, right?” He states more than asks, “When we get home, I’ll make your favorite. Then you can get rest, then study sometime later.” Listing, his tone lightens a bit. He finds his fingers around the tinier boy's slim wrist; lifting it toward the ever-growing-colder body, Okuyasu shirks back—Keicho doesn’t react, Okuyasu can’t find his voice.
“Okuyasu, what we’re doin’ is good!” His composure slowly cracks, his voice quickens, his accent slips, his grip tightens, he rises. “These losers are nobodies! Some’re even shittier than us—why’re you so squeamish, we’re doin’ good!” His voice cracks as his unnaturally large iris stares down into Okuyasu. Okuyasu trimmers in silent protest, head hung low, wrist aching. Keicho’s eyes close as he drops the small boy, “You’re not even worth it.” Okuyasu knees and palms dig into the gravel once more, he doesn’t even look up at him in his dazed state. “We’re taking him with us then.” Keicho clasps his hands together as he turns his back to them. “We’re not too far from home, we can make the trip.”
A gust of cold air slams past him from behind, surprise never casts his face—not once. “You always give in, I was almost proud of you.” Keicho turns back to look at Okuyasu, “He’s gonna haunt you in your dreams anyway, why not take him home with us?” His tone questioning, his face ridiculing. His stare falls on the younger boy's lifted hand, ready to be taken. His hand, freezing cold, grips onto Okuyasu’s warm one, yanking him up from the floor. Gravel falling from his reddened calfs.
Light baby blue clouds fade in and out above them, stars sparkling about, the moonlight shining on the two.
They’d moved many places but none could match the city life of Tokyo: the boisterous wide crowds, the colourful lights, the lack of police presence, the lack of care for ‘coloured’ kids like them. Nothing, so as they maneuver past advertisements, heavy lights, and huge attractions; Keicho stops the two of them before the large reflecting glass of a convenience store.
“You used to love window shopping,” he starts, Okuyasu only realizing he’d stopped a few steps afterward. “you don’t like to anymore?” His eyes peer into the beaming store. “I think I see something you’d like though..” standing behind the shorter boy, he found his palms on his cheeks, forcing him to face the sweet chocolate packaging pressed against the glass.
Okuyasu’s face contorts into a frightened grimace, his tiny irises contracting even more; he backs into his older brother's chest. “What’s so wrong? You don’t like chocolate anymore?” Okuyasu turns, shrinking into his chest, palms covering his eyes. No tears fall, he’s as silent as a mouse.
Keicho approves of his reaction. Pushing him away, he drags Okuyasu into the store before them, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I think they fit you, they make you look like the man you are.” A bell rings from atop the door.
Okuyasu pushes his tiny body over the TV stand, reaching the duster behind the large box. His eyes water, his throat stings as he fights away a cough; even if he did, no one would care—just like his numerous crying fits. No one ever cares—honestly he can’t tell when was the last time he’d cried..was it when he found his mothers cold body, wondering why she wouldn’t hug him back? When his father beat him or his older brother black or blue? No, those happened too long ago. Oh, he knows! He knows but he’d rather forget. “That’s dangerous, little brother. Get down from there.” Okuyasu looks over the TV in the dark room, the light from the kitchen’s what draws his attention; his brother standing before it stealing it. “Didn’t I tell you to go to bed?”
Almost cutting his older brother off, he replies in a fastened tone: “I couldn’t.” reaching his foot down from the stand. “You know that legs no good; you’re so dumb.” Keicho runs to catch him, helping him down from the stand. A soft smile replaces his forever frown, “Little brother, you know I love you, right.?” he asks, holding his hands. “It’s been a week and you haven’t once looked at me.” A saddened expression on his face forces Okuyasu to bring his head slightly up. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” Okuyasu’s hands race to his face, tears threatening to fall—not sad ones but angry, frustrated ones. Keicho finds his arms around his back, pulling him in for a hug. Okuyasu barely hugs him back. He always does this: hurts him, ignores his pain, asks if he hates him, hugs him, repeats.
Every time.
“Food’s done.” He pulls away from him, his face back to neutral. Keicho’s fast pace after turning around differs from Okuyasu’s dragging of feet, his eyes back to the ground.
“We’re feedin’ him today?” His cute, low voice asks, a look of askance swept across Keicho’s face.
“He doesn’t need any, you already know he won’t die.” his grip loosens.
Okuyasu hops onto his designated spot—always before the front door, next to the garbage can. The apartment is quite small, empty but neither of them are materialistic. Keicho carries over two plates—both containing the same food, Okuyasu’s containing more. “Your starving isn't affecting anyone but yourself. Think outside the box.” He leaves to retrieve them water; Okuyasu looks out into the other dark rooms, he wonders when people’ll come knocking at their door again. He hopes soon, the memories of every one of his houses are quite harsh but this one’s harsher..way harsher.
“Are you going to eat now or waste our money?” Keicho tosses him his bottle before sitting before him; he says his grace before eating.
Okuyasu picks at it before forcing it down his throat; he’s hungry—feels as though he’ll cave in on himself soon—but the food just makes him want to throw up. He keeps trudging it down his throat until there’s no more.
“Mmm..” he mumbles, “Tastes just like moms..” he compliments. Through parts of his hair, he can see a smile tug at Keicho’s lips—he’s always been a sucker for compliments.
“Little brother, tomorrow I’ll be out a while.” His chopsticks clink against his plate, “Keep on watch and on top of your studies, alright? You don’t have to do any tonight, just get some rest. You need it.” Pointing toward the direction of their room, Okuyasu catches the hint—picking up his plate to rinse off.
The only real light in the room illuminates from the moon-shaped night-light; it casts unto the boxes surrounding it, the makeshift dollie holding some, and their two pallets cascading the floor. Okuyasu had already done his regular routine: brushing, washing, etc. All he has to do now is sleep.
He feels against the covers—his pallet closest to the nightlight, it’s hard for him to sleep without it—and pulls himself under. His curls cushion against his pillow, exhaustion and tiresome lace his entire body but he can’t seem to close his eyes—to even really think. He wants to do so much—cry, laugh, scream but he can’t; he’s scared. Scared so much that his [9:30PM] turns to [2:47AM].
Keicho’s snoring is quite loud but not enough to really keep him up—he’s slept through louder, so why can’t he fall asleep.
Slowly pushing himself up, he feels his tiny arms shake from exhaustion; he prays to whatever God Keicho believes in to keep him asleep—he’s long distanced himself from religion.
Feeling around near the boxes, his fingers land on the night-light—he pulls it out slowly, quietly.
He crawls past both of their pallets toward the bathroom connected to their room and slowly closes the door—only letting go of the knob until it closes entirely.
Low light springs to life—connecting to the outlet next to the sink; breathing in and out a few, he finally manages the confidence to stare at himself—at it. Bringing his head slightly high, he yanks it down, gritting his teeth.
For the first time today, he can actually feel his tears on his lashes; bile in his throat.
Gripping the sink, he forces himself to look up at his face; at those scars he’s been given. At that hack-job of stitch-work. His face is no-longer as it once looked. Before, if he’d looked in the mirror, he would see his mothers dead stare looking back at him but now he’s just grotesque. He’s himself, his own disgusting features and scars staring back at him. His own mangled display of a face scrunching up in childish horror—real terror.
For as long as he couldn’t look at himself—didn’t want anyone else to see him, he now couldn't stop staring—wanting someone to stare at him with that same terror..anguish.
Look at what Keicho’d done to him, look at what he’d done to his own face trying to save it.
He doesn’t want to believe it’s real—he can’t. So as his hand reached before it, covering half of his face in the mirror he couldn’t help but scream silently.
Keicho would hate to see him like this. To wake up to this.
His legs wobble, he barely moves fast enough to even move away from the sinks edge—almost smashing his chin against it in horror,
Tears finally fall but he can’t throw up; he hyperventilates, tears falling, hands shaking yet clinging onto his hair up until.
Snapping forward, he almost slams against the dashboard. “Yasu??” Josuke jumps before reaching toward him, horror tracing his shaky voice.
They’re now the last two in the car; Yukako and Koichi long gone. They’re sat in-front of the Nijimura residence. Okuyasu tries to look up at Josuke, to reassure him with a silly grin or a funny quip but he can’t breathe.
Even with his heavy breathing—his lungs expanding, he can’t feel it. It’s as if he keeps letting it out but not bringing any in. He almost curls in on hisself but he remembers: {Josuke’s here.} he tries his best to turn his head, to look up at him normally, but he can feel his face twitching; the furrow of his brow the forced smile, the horrified stare Josuke’s giving him.
“Okuyasu, what the hell?” The worry in his voice, the horror on his face, is just ruining Okuyasu’s facade by the minute. He’s so alive, even with the sleeping, nightmares, then waking up, he feels chipper.
“Thanks for takin’ me home.” Okuyasu hums, struggling with his seatbelt. “’m jus’ really tired, there’s nothin’ wrong with me.”
“I don’t believe you!—you just almost slammed your head into the dashboard!” He hurries his hands over Okuyasu’s; Okuyasu’s breathing becomes hoarse, as he fails to look up at Josuke. His vision fails him as his head starts to feel light, and his feet heavy; he feels like he’s falling, he sees as his vision falls black.
Waking up to your mothers voice is something, waking up to your dead mothers voice is another thing…waking up to your entire dead family's voices overlapping one another is something else entirely. “Why can’t you jus’ sleep normally?” A soft motherly voice asks him, he feels heavy. “Can’t you do that for momma? Jus’ this once?” Her warm brown skin dulled, like when he found her. “Is it because of me? I obviously wasn’t sleeping then silly! Even you should know that!” Her giggles sounds eerily close to his, bashfull and lively. Never having had met her, his subconscious must be pulling at anything to make something as horrifying as this—or is he really just this similar to his mother?
It doesn't feel as if anything's holding him down, it feels as if he himself is heavy; heavy enough to melt into one against..whatever he's laying on.
“Okuyasu, wake up. You’re wasting time.” Keicho’s commanding voice booms in the calm between him and his mother. “Get up, you’re embarrassing me.” He peers down at him—his face is the only one that’s visible. Okuyasu wishes it wasn’t. “Father doesn’t even want to talk to you; you’re making a scene.” his curls are out, something Okuyasu'd rarely seen—was it because of the way it matched Okuyasus? Or was it because it matcched with their mothers?
“Can’t you jus’ give him some space? He’s tired, look at him..”
“Yeah, look at him, look at the blood on his hands too.”
“Stop it, honey.”
“Look at the amount of lives he’s taken, the people he’s hurt, the people he’s used.”
“Keicho, stop it..”
A sea of smoke fills his lungs, Okuyasu can't bare to let it in..nor let it out.
“You really think he’s innocent? Look at him!”
“What else was he supposed to do??” “What else was he supposed to do??”
“Anything but that.”
“What? Follow your orders?”
“My orders that he could've refuted.”
His father shakes Okuyasu by his shoulders; listening to his brother and mother argue, Okuyasu can’t help but cry. The heavyweight inhabiting his head doesn't help–pressing down, nulling his view.
“See, your enabling’s making him cry like a baby—he’s a grown ass man.”
“He’s fifteen?! What is—you act jus’ like your father!”
“Like you would know..”
Tears droop onto his pillow as he shakily breathes in and out. His fathers still shaking him, one hand now slapping his face. Keicho plops onto a free spot on his bed, facing away from the two. His mother cups Okuyasu’s face and leans closer to him; his pleading thoughts go unnoticed. He tries to squint his eyes—unable to close them—watching as his mother grows ever closer.
He doesn’t want to see the blue tint to her face—it was his first memory anyhow.
The blue tint, the glossy eyes, and cracked lips haunt his dreams every night. No wonder Keicho ruined his face, he really does look like his mother—is that how he’ll look when he meets his end?
Will his friends have to find him pale and sickly? Tired looking, eyes wide? He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want his friends finding him like that. He doesn’t want to be a burden like that—to haunt their dreams, to appear anywhere and everywhere. To be something they have to ignore every time they go to sleep and wake up.
To be something that settles fear in them every time they look towards their other friends or look in the mirror.
{Why do they keep screamin’ at each other? Even here they won’t jus’ chill.} His voice comes out as a low rasp, cracking, “Why does this always gotta happen to me? What’d I do so wrong to deserve this?” After a while longer, his father stops shaking him, and Keicho and his mother stop screaming at each other. They all turn towards Okuyasu with a pitying look on their massacred faces.
Their voices stack yet their message is clear: “You’re not special, Okuyasu.”
Opening his eyes once more, he’s a blinking mess—feeling fat tears rolling down his face.
Yukakos over him, a hand still resting on his shoulder—her face, regularly neutral, is full of worry. She stares at Josuke confused—waiting for him to tell her what to do; something, anything.
Heavily, Okuyasu turns to the side as he digs his hands into his hair, he doesn’t feel the hands cupping his face—let alone recognizes the voice of his favorite person; Josuke shrinks toward him, questioning him, but he can’t hear him. He drags the back of his hands over his eyes, fighting the tears away. He wants to reassure them that he’s fine—that it was just a nightmare—but he can’t; he can’t let out a sound. Koichi’s looking back and forth between Josuke and Yukako, biting at his fingernails. Dispair riddling his face, is he terrified? Of what? Of who? For who?
END OF CHAPTER ONE