The young man was this close to leaving before one of his more drunken clients showed up. He was a scruffy older man; hard on the eyes. He’d worked with him before, but he wasn’t completely sure of his name.
It was a shame. With things constantly moving around, names changing, people moving into new homes and apartments, Keith could never seem to settle down. If he thought he was under any suspicion of drug trafficking by the police, he’d be forced to move across town, maybe farther. Due to this, Keith had become quite isolated. Though he didn’t care to think about it when he didn’t have to, that old detective was the only thing he could really call home. He yearned for something like that again, someone like that again. His trust in people had gone to shit after that ordeal, though, so it would be a miracle if he would let someone get that close to him again.
Keith pulled an earbud out to speak briefly with the man, making a quick exchange of the small baggy of cocaine and money. It was three grams for about $350 - it was high-quality shit. At least that’s what he’d heard. He wouldn’t be surprised if these people were being scammed out of their money for the bare minimum. All-in-all, it wasn’t his problem. He was just making money. Keith always got 15% of whatever he’d earned. It was always just barely enough for decent housing, bills, groceries, and whatever else he’d decided to spend it on that month. Being paid monthly was a bit irritating, but it always made the bill seem larger than it really was.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, shaking hands with the man. His hand was crushed within the other’s grip, but didn’t let it show in his face. Keith had been cursed with long, slender fingers. It went well with the rest of his body, but it bugged him anyways. He could never give quite proper handshakes. Keith watched his client make his way down the sidewalk in the way that he came. Without warning, his chest was met with a sudden burning sensation, one that he couldn’t comprehend right away.
“Shit!-” The younger man cursed, his shoulders and arms raising up some. He stared down at his soiled shirt and jacket, more disturbed by that than the scalding hot beverage on his skin. That jacket was expensive - or at least, more expensive than his other clothes. “For fuck’s sake!” He hissed out, holding his shirt out from his chest. “Who do you-!..” Keith looked up, his eyes widening. Fuck. He felt as if his sight was betraying him. The words he was speaking got completely caught in his throat, a lump forming as well. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
The sound of the other speaking his name was all too painful. He didn’t want to cry, not here, not in front of him. He needed to show that he was doing just fine without him and didn’t care about him anymore, that Takashi was dead to him. Unfortunately, his body was frozen and refused to move. The coffee was starting to settle in his clothes, the winter air aiding in cooling it down.
Keith wheezed momentarily, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. “Prick.” He managed to whisper out, using all the force he could muster up to push back against the larger man. With shaking legs, he began to speed down the sidewalk. Keith wasn’t sure where he was going, he just needed to get out of there. Somewhere where Shiro couldn’t find him, where he didn’t have to look at him. Simply seeing him again created a suffocating pain in his chest, one that he got often when he recollected what Shiro had done to him. His chest was burning, he felt like he could pass from the lack of oxygen coming into his body, but he kept trudging on, praying that the other wasn’t following him.
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