hi !! i just binge reread loyal as a dog AND I MISS IT SO MUCH HBFJS
OMG SO SORRY, SO ACTUALLY—it never stopped, I just haven't had a chance to put the newest chapter on here bc I have to manually put in italics/bold/slash through text which takes a long time for both AO3 & Tumblr BUT here is the link for chapter 34 if you'd like to read it!:D
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you’re white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I’m so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I’m so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would’ve feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I’m so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I’ll always love you.
Ah, I’m so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It’s the galaxy’s best, so I’ll share it with you.
Ah, I’m so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon’s all ours.
You’re always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I’m so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don’t mesh well with moons.
Ah, I’m so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
cw // character death, cursing, violence, angst, 8/31
Ah, I'm so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Today you're white.
Sunday morning breakfasts, and walks in the park.
Late night movies, and story-time after dark.
Ah, I'm so scared.
—I whisper into my palms.
The monsters in my flashlight ate my shadow.
My nightlight is full of stars.
Ah, I'm so sour.
—I whisper into my palms.
Counterfeit artists wear superhero capes.
I immitate ghosts and dress in spare sheets.
If I ripped out all my hair and rolled my insides out onto the floor, maybe they would've feared ghosts a little bit more.
Ah, I'm so empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
Your shade looks white, but I know better.
Paint brushes can’t replicate the color of you.
Even so, you love it.
And I'll always love you.
Ah, I'm so lonely.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow told me to sip from the moon before I fall asleep, for, fate swims on the surface and binds to every glass.
It's the galaxy's best, so I'll share it with you.
Ah, I'm so happy.
—I whisper into my palms.
Aliens went to Mars, so the moon's all ours.
You're always so picky, but bendy straws sink right in. Elixir filled the crater with all of time and space.
And I was just happy to share it with you.
But today you were white until you dripped black.
You hated the taste, and as a consequence, you hated me too.
Ah, I'm so repulsive.
—I whisper into my palms.
The feathers in my pillow laughed and told me bendy straws don't mesh well with moons.
Ah, I'm so worthless.
—I whisper into my palms.
The creaks in my floorboards told me it's okay. Everyone makes mistakes, and tomorrow is a different shade. They said; that bag of feathers is bad, so next time, listen to someone better.
Ah, I'm not empty.
—I whisper into my palms.
I threw my pillow into a nuclear reactor.
Today you're white.
Humans, as a species, can enjoy horror movies because they understand that what they're watching isn't real.
Made up.
Fake.
Scripted.
Those horrors couldn't hurt people in the real world.
It'd be a lot less entertaining if the monsters in question were a threat to people's daily lives. To make people sit through a movie based on their already hellscape situation under the pretense of some good old cinema just sounds like bad business.
Well, hey, news flash.
The thing you just witnessed was, in fact, real life.
Calling on all fuck heads in the monster industry! Thanks for the warning, because until a few seconds ago, you lived a blissfully ignorant life. Discovering such a nightmare on your own time, outside in the real world, was a real slap in the face.
No preparation, just dread inducing reality.
Your old life was never coming back.
Teeth of a demon were honed to a perfect flesh-eating edge. Its gaze, piercing as a vipers was of venomous rust and could detect a heartbeat from a mile away. At a whopping 20 feet, it towered above the tallest, capable of crushing people like ants.
To that thing, people were just bags of meat.
Today, you got lucky.
You'd held in your fear, but now it was free to spill.
You let it all out.
“I thought he was gonna kill me.”
Stricken by a flash flood of tears, it would've done you some good to hold back because this looked like emotional overkill. Beside you stood the irritated target of your current clinging.
Sanzu Haruchiyo, a moody boy who tolerated you on occasion. He was many things, but above all: the best. It should also be stated that he's good at everything, always has the right answer, and never messes up. The two of you functioned on wildly different operating systems, and he wasn't a huge fan of some of your programming, primarily how suffocating it was. Most days it was like trying to shove a square into a triangle, but even if it seemed illogical, in your heart of hearts it was a perfect match. If not for him, life would've gone in the hungry rat route, and no one likes a rat, let alone a hungry one.
Seriously, rat torture is no joke. If they're desperate enough, they won't think twice about eating you right up. Not that you had that kind of street beef with rats, but if you did, they'd have a new torture method on their hands, one inspired by the fact that you'd never let such an inferior species devour you.
No, let's be real—you probably would.
You're kind of a wimp.
Joining a gang didn't change that.
“Get off.” Sanzu revoked already nonexistent clinging privileges by reclaiming his arm as he continued, “and stop crying. You're over exaggerating everything.”
“Okay.” You nodded and wiped your eyes, though it didn't aid you in looking any less of a mess.
The song of hell reached your ears.
“Who are we talkin' about?”
—eek.
You should've already known the monster in question possessed phenomenal hearing.
Though you had escaped its talons through a fearless facade, it would be a battle you'd have to win every single day, seeing how he led this division.
A monster in the flesh, Baji Keisuke.
Concealed in the get-up of a standard Toman uniform, raven hair mimicked that of a human’s as it flared above his shoulders. It was a formidable disguise, but distinct canines of the grinning demon reminded you of his true nature.
Day by day, Sanzu continued to triumph over humanity. He'd been encountering that nightmare all this time, not to mention, in the face of such horror, Sanzu simply walked away. On the other hand, your feet merged with the concrete; the side effect all low-ranking creatures must endure when faced with actual predators of mankind.
“Well?” Baji asked.
In return, you could only smile as your pupils took to replicating pins.
“Him.” Your finger trembled, and Baji's gaze followed as you pointed to a rickety geezer shuffling down the street.
With a talon aimed at the victim, Baji double checked and asked, “him?”
Nod, nod, nod.
The manner in which Baji aimed down his sight hinted that he'd never faced such a load of bullshit in his life, as squinting transitioned into sneering.
“If you're gonna give me some lame ass lie, at least make it believable.”
Nearly jumping at his accusation, you tensed up.
“Wow, ya saw right through me.” Your smile persisted, if only as a defense mechanism. “'Kay, guess I'll be honest.” You continued, “………”
“Forget how to talk? No worries, I can help you remember.”
How weird.
Honestly, baffling.
Ripped straight from hell, the demon cracked his knuckles and with every click and crack, years depleted from your lifespan.
You'd expire before he laid a single claw on you.
How many years did you have left? If you had to guess, one sounded accurate.
Through a flimsy delivery, your voice wavered with each word, “heh… haha… the milk guy… he's the culprit… yeah…”
“The… milk guy?” He repeated, dumbfounded.
“Uh-huh.” You nodded spastically. “His face was on the milk I bought and it was super scary. I almost cried. I might cry thinking about it. So, if I start crying, that's why. The milk guy, he's… gonna be in my nightmares.” You shivered at the mere thought, or realistically, the sight.
Struck with a hard slap of bewilderment damage, Baji's eyebrows sank. “You're screwing with me right now.”
“Honest,” you vowed, with a hand jittering over your chest and a heart nearing attack.
“The… milk guy?” Baji could only repeat once more before bursting into violent laughter. “Who the hell-” His head launched back, as the captain cut himself off with a cackle.
A ha-ha barrage.
Baji carried on, spitting out a variation of opening remarks only to interrupt each of them with the same outburst of hilarity. All of which revolved around none other than the dreaded milk guy.
Phew, he breathed out.
Back within the realm of senses, Baji resumed, “sounds like a scary guy.”
“Yup, a total monster,” you said, feigning ignorance through innocence.
The nanosecond Baji put his toothy grin on display, a shadow cast overhead, or so you imagined. Or so Baji summoned it, since it's well within a monster's skill-set.
“Hmm? You think?”
You smiled nervously and nodded.
“Sucks for you, I'm a monster who eats liars.”
—eek.
The weak would always crack.
“I'm super scared–no, terrified of ya, so please don't eat me, I'm way, way sorry, super sorry, seriously,” you confessed, freely, and frantically.
Jittering shoulders tensed as you awaited divine punishment—no, that outcome would be too merciful.
Hellfire punishment.
“You believed that?” He scrunched his brows. Once again perplexed, Baji leaned in close. “Do you actually think I'm a damn monster?”
It was plain as day!
Telltale signs of a monster.
Whatever those signs were, seemed less distinct, but they were most definitely—probably there. Somewhere.
You nodded spastically once again.
“Don't eat me.”
Remember that wimp statement from earlier?
Well, here's an encore.
Like a badly written phoenix, the life cycle of tears ended, but they never truly died. Steadily approaching the highlighted route, the waterworks were an up-and-coming attraction that'd be a liability for all ages. Think of it as a water park, except it's just miles of open water. Oh and also, it's basically just the ocean except there's only ever more ocean.
If crying were a sport, then the next scene would still be considered murder.
A badly written phoenix doesn't care how many people have to drown.
You're going to cry, and that's that.
“Alright, I won't.” In swift agreement, the roles reversed as Baji took his turn to tense up. “I'm feeling generous today, but if you cry the deals off, got it?” Attempting to recover with a sloppy excuse, he crossed his arms.
If this were a live performance, his deplorable acting career would've just been booed into retirement with how rigid he sounded.
But no matter how much someone bombs there's always that one person who claps, regardless. Whether they actually know what's going on or not is debatable, but still.
They clap like it's the best shit they've ever seen.
“Cross my heart, I won't cry,” you pledged on a vital organ as if ten minutes from now you wouldn't be crying over a bee sting.“So please never eat me, 'kay?”
“That's up to you.”
“... scary.”
×××
The only distinguishing characteristic in this lip splitting fiasco was the uniforms of those you passed.
That was it.
Lame as it was, you suffered a major blow to the head early on. That's what happens when your focus is elsewhere.
You get hit hard.
Despite the buzzing, it didn't hurt.
Being disoriented at a time like this was a fatal fuck up, but fatally fucked as it was, it somehow worked out as you caught a glimpse of that lying larva through the mass of bodies. As stated prior, your head got rattled relatively early on, and while that was no one's fault but yours truly, a certain two man party had previously stated they'd get Baji back no matter what, in which a solo member intended to join the cause this time around. That meant sticking to that rescue squad like glue.
Yet for some reason, the solo member got left way behind.
Slipping and sliding between wild figures engaged in fist on fist violence, you reached your lowly goal.
One that'd gotten as injured as you'd expect a larva to.
“How sad. First I got lied to and this time I got ditched.” You grinned to a sinister degree. “So Tapomichi, which finger should I start with?”
In his defense, it was more like everyone got bum rushed by Valhalla scumbags, but that was irrelevant.
He fired back, “not right now."
Already beaten into a panic, the larva didn't appear sound enough for threatening banter.
Not everyone coped with cruciality in the same way.
Some wore it instead of burying it.
You knew that much.
“Sorry.”
You smiled apologetically, but it barely reached.
Takomichi took off, and after you just complained about getting ditched. Your eyes traveled to his destination, and without a thought, you sprinted after him.
Correction, you tried to.
Valhalla nuisances caused a delay.
Tut, tut, tut, tut.
Traversing the battlefield that was a safety hazard all on its own and, failing to spot a few major events in the process, you moved from one car to the next.
Late to the party, was merely an expression used by those with a fixed sense of time. In other words, bogus. Fabricated ideas of that nature served no purpose to those who arrived at their 9-5 sometime after 11. Any who felt the need to reside within synchronized notions of time needed to know, it was downright harmful. Specifically, to those who shifted out of the time hive. Because at this moment, despite being 'late' by Mr. Time Clocks standard, your arrival unfolded at the perfect phase.
A phase that kept your hands from dipping into anything labeled as important.
“Hff… hff…”
Winded breath after breath delivered sharp air to your lungs. While the course of your destination seemed easy enough, the interference of unpredictable shit-head assholes caused a few too many detours. With that in mind, it shouldn't come as a surprise that the scene you dashed up on made next to negative sense.
But it didn't have to.
Some things don't need to make sense.
As to why that guy had a knife in his hand, as to why he had a knife to Baji's back, the answer was simple. The intention really couldn't have been anything besides.
—murder.
To stab someone came with the possibility of killing them.
Ending their life.
Knives weren't tools for self defense.
They were tools for slicing someone open.
An accessory for monsters who accepted that weight.
To use one with all that in mind was an inexcusable action reserved only for bottom shoe filth.
It was in their nature to represent the mistake of origin.
The color all bad people wore.
The one destined to stain those who weren't good.
—black.
That guy was a bad person.
Kazutora.
Beneath his eye, a beauty mark signified scum, while the design of a tiger occupied his neck.
Kazutora's presence rippled with something truly unpleasant. Faced with a human monster, you encapsulated a bottomless pit.
Discomfort roamed beneath layers of skin, ascending up, descending down. Call it biased, but that guy, the one with the lame neck tattoo, that bad person who attempted murder, the one called Kazutora, he looked so…
–pathetic
The sight of him etched a deep emptiness into the soles of your feet.
It weighed you down.
It felt like you'd never walked a day in your life.
Part of you wanted to look away, but you couldn't; because mortal gods don't die, they live in spite of those who think ants are capable assassins.
As Takumicho rammed into the attempted murderer, you regained certainty in how the world always worked.
Laws of the universe favored good.
The bad parts were never permanent.
Everything would always work out.
Even with the imminent threat neutralized, the aftermath blurred together, from one sequence to the next.
And that moment of an indistinguishable beginning and end pushed you forward. You went and stopped just before the finish line, but this time you'd get to the end. Dashing over the last bit of debris, you weren't catching your breath anytime soon. That was the nature of suspense. Each second seemed thorough and detailed, despite staying fixed in its miniature ways.
Coming to a stop, the car's hood creaked in displeasure, while its rusted paint job crunched below anchored feet. The ditching committee had seen better days, yet your captain didn't exhibit a single bruise or scratch.
As Baji turned to face the party, chilled air of October hissed in passing. The breeze of its travels swept up wavy strands that once devoured the moon, yet even now, they dripped with the same infinite black that once engulfed the world.
“Baji,” Topemichi yelled out. “Are you okay?”
“Just a scratch,” Baji replied. “Thanks for the save, Takemichi.”
“Hah…” tired lungs exhaled with a smile of pure relief. “I seriously would've hated ya if anything bad happened.”
“You think I'd go down that easy?”
“Nope. Mr. Baji's way strong.”
“It's Baji,” he snapped back.
The interaction flourished with relief, but equally valid emotions festered as well. Up close and in an uproar, Chifuyu spun out, gripping Kazutora by the collar as Tayomiki continued to speak.
“I'm glad you're alive.”
“Huh?” Baji furrowed his brow. “The hell is your deal?”
As the conversation progressed, a realization moseyed on by.
You underestimated Takimochi's worth, because he was actually a crazed lunatic and, for some reason Chifuyu endorsed him.
It still wasn't clear where Taramichi even fit into all of this. He was just some outsider. Yet, I'm gonna crush Kisaki so I can become Toman's leader, came out of his mouth as if either of those goals were related.
You followed along in spirit, but lacked any support.
Sure, you might feed into a lot of things, but this wouldn't be one of them. Actively working against his statement seemed more in character since you'd never be caught dead taking orders from some wimpy lying larva.
Thankfully, back in reality, Baji used violence as a countermeasure on Tayomichi for obvious reasons, and Chifuyu for equally obvious reasons but maybe with an added: 'you should know better', factor smacked on.
While the mental larva was one topic that could easily be disregarded, what didn't make sense was Baji. What he was doing didn't make sense. Not to mention why Kisaki was the target in all of this. But then again, it didn't have to. It was human nature to want to destroy things and sometimes humans happened to get thrown into the middle of the road for existing. The more you thought about it, the more you validated this anti Kisaki movement. He had a face made for hate, so really, he had no one to blame but himself.
Having worked past yet another irrelevant detail, it didn't change the fact that you wanted Baji back where he belonged. Hot on his trail, he only stood a few levels above, though with his back facing you, Baji made his destination clear.
But you finally reached your goal.
You made it.
You were right there.
Terrain plays a large role in the world. This terrain for example, wasn't exemplary for everyday human travel. No, because this wasn't an apocalyptic era and people didn't typically climb around like dumpster monkeys in their daily lives. Aside from the potential of human inflicted damage, this map also proposed fall damage, and guess who just lost their footing?
Not the two below and not the one in front.
Acting on the human instinct: fear of eating complete shit, you reached out, snagging onto a clump of fabric from Baji's jacket to his shirt. Despite your meager effort, you still went down, just not in a way that resulted in free fall calamity. Instead, you embarked on a stationary fall, as some junked metal cushioned your face-first trip.
With the same distant air, Baji looked back for a moment and crouched in front of you.
“Don't go gettin' ahead of yourself. I'm still pissed off at you,” Baji snapped, and while narrowed eyes might speak the language of irritation, those features were reminiscent of a friend. “So cover the tab next time and I'll forgive you for being as thick headed as me.”
A mirror image of burning resolve had marked the worst match-up in all of human history.
Even so.
He grinned.
A Baji-esque grin.
But that didn't cut it.
You always wanted more.
“Stop being so lame Mr. Baji,” you mumbled into your arms. “You gotta cover my meals for the rest of your life for such a lame-o switch up.” Lifting your head, melancholy threaded itself along the curve of your lips. “But if ya stop being lame, I'll cut it down to one, so-”
The luxury of solid ground got revoked.
Yanked up by the fabric of your jacket, Baji discarded you with the same ease required to throw a paper plane. With the danger of fall damage back in working order, you braced for ugly impact. Though you didn't make a catastrophic crash with surrounding scrap-metal, you did collide into a human below.
“...gh!”
One level of drop down travel later and you exhaled in relief. Turning to face the victim, as well as the safety bag to your crash, the results showed Chifuyu planted behind you.
“Bet that wasn't much fun,” Chifuyu managed to say in a light-hearted manner.
“I hated it,” you said. In a surge of guilt, your eyebrows knit apologetically at the already damaged blonde. “Sorry if I hurt ya.”
“Don't sweat it.” Getting back on his feet, Chifuyu offered you a helping hand.
The, beaten down by Baji trio, turned their attention back to the eternal captain, as he fastened his hair back before ascending the tower of Mr. Scumbag certified cars. Hell bent and on a warpath, Baji armed himself with a pipe carelessly wedged in the debris.
A combo straight from the nightmare realm.
Such a nightmare forced its wrath onto the up-and-coming graveyard of the third division. You couldn't help but burn up with pride knowing such an absolute monster was your captain. Even when outmatched, it didn't matter. The strength of an entire squad flowed freely in the violent veins of a hellpath human as he blew through clusters of the, under new management, third division lame-o's.
As expected, since mortal gods outranked human mites in every way. Despite having 'mortal' in their title, they lacked almost all traits of such inferior beings.
They were mortal in name, not in nature.
The sticky makeup of your palm drew your gaze down for a quick diagnosis of one of the many gross things currently occupying your body.
Oh, it's just…
—blood?
How did it get on your palm? It wasn't like your hand was bleeding. Was it Chifuyu's?
The heavens responded to a question that didn't need to be answered.
Held at pipe-point, the replacement captain faced Baji's judgment as the edged weapon nearly pressed into his neck.
But nearly never reached.
“Fuck… guess that's that…”
Baji's limits were stained crimson.
Choking out iron.
Dripping down his lips.
There was blood where blood shouldn't be.
It was bad.
Glancing back down at your palm, wide eyes hollowed to make room for reality.
Baji's blood was on your hand.
When you grabbed his jacket.
When you grabbed his shirt.
That was where he almost got—no.
Not almost.
That guy.
That parasite.
He stabbed Baji in the back.
It was an immediate reaction.
An expected reaction.
Chifuyu tore through the gap and grounded himself at Baji's side. He wore the face of someone that wasn't him, intense and inclined to act with no regard. As he lashed out at the Kisaki, it moved all too fast, because as always.
You were two steps behind.
In presence.
In senses.
In understanding anything.
The air shifted as the consequences sprouted.
Each human's reaction bloomed in a different shade.
There was the expected and the unexpected.
Prior intentions went astray as the scope of your vision narrowed. Taking off down junked cars and debris, you headed towards an illogical route.
A nonsensical path for relief.
After all, you weren't good at this sort of thing.
Fixing things.
Finding solutions.
The alternative resided on a self-serving horizon.
Making the root of it suffer too.
That Valhalla parasite.
Kazutora.
He needed to hurt worse.
But you were always two steps behind.
Others felt the same way.
The term one track mind wasn't exclusive to your reasoning alone, it included those more capable than you could ever be; those who took it further than you ever would.
Through detached composure, Mikey radiated murderous intent.
Hanma, that ashtray of a person, posed an issue in the past up until right now. Swatted down by the force of one kick, Hanma's frame slumped against the ground in a way that demonstrated his interpretation of a caterpillar.
The height of perpetual violence went silent; a natural reaction for having just witnessed a weapon in human flesh.
And that weapon perceived Valhalla as the enemy.
Mites were only mites, they couldn't exceed their low-ranking purpose, so they took to fleeing as their only means of self preservation.
One remained.
The root of all this.
Kazutora, the parasite among mites.
Faced with the personification of his own death, he held his ground for all of one second. It was pointless, really. The difference in power was black and white.
No longer a fight; it was an execution.
Effortlessly thrashing him around the clearing, Mikey harbored the disposition of a cold-blooded murderer. It went far beyond your prior intentions. Even standing on the outskirts gave the impression that one misstep could lead to a fatal blow. You wanted to check on Baji, but your feet refused to move.
You were scared.
Downright terrified that if you turned your back on this, you wouldn't make it. In this state, it seemed unlikely that Mikey could distinguish outsiders, and that included you. No matter how slim the chances, if you weren't looking and that shit show approached, the damage would be catastrophic.
You couldn't avert your eyes.
This wasn't fear, it was paralysis.
But you chose this route.
One with no relief.
No solace.
No good.
If Mikey was a lion, then Kazutora was a mouse.
Batting the opponent around like he was some measly rodent, it progressed fatally. Pinned to the ground and relentlessly pummeled, Kazutora was at the mercy of consequence.
A peaceful end wasn't plausible.
It wouldn't stop until Kazutora died.
He was going to die, and no one could do anything about it.
Even if he was a bad person, death was too heavy.
It was permanent.
Out of touch with the gruesome scene progressing in front of you, your head buzzed with static.
“Mikey,” a voice boomed. “You got mad… just for me? Thanks man.”
No one could do anything to change Kazutora's fate, but now that didn't seem so true. Mikey's focus hadn't once strayed from the victim of his assault. He'd stayed diligent, pursuing a clear-cut goal.
But that empty gaze shattered its focus.
Redirected its path.
One person managed such a feat.
One person altered the course woven by fate.
“I'm not gonna die,” despite struggling to catch his breath, Baji's voice captivated all who remained. “This wound ain't gonna kill me.”
One person influenced life.
One person inspired death.
“So don't worry about it, Kazutora.”
Unsteady steps trekked down metal terrain as the drive of a hellpath human carried on.
It was a melody of hope.
Sullen features brightened as you spun to face him.
But one person did too much.
…huh?
It was unimaginable; why Baji was handling the knife like that.
As if he intended to use it.
As if he were about to stab someone.
“You're not gonna be the one—”
With the same conviction as always, Baji thrust the knife up above his head.
It was the same as always.
Conviction too overwhelming for his own good.
He swung the knife down, upholding that same momentum.
“—who kills me.”
He drove the blade into his stomach.
Plunging through skin.
He forced the knife in.
In. In. In.
Into only he, himself.
Baji Keisuke.
No one could kill mortal gods.
But mortal gods could kill themselves.
No one else.
Only he, himself.
And you just couldn't accept that.
You would've stopped him.
If it were real, you would've stopped him.
There was no way he could've done that when he was standing so close by, because you would've stopped him.
You wouldn't have just stood by and watched.
You would've sprinted in.
You would've reached out.
You would've stopped him.
You would've.
—but you didn't.
A wretched sensation crawled up your spine.
Something foul loomed over your shoulder.
As safe as an embrace, slender hands grazed the back of your neck, but that wouldn't cut it. They were itching to wrap around your throat.
It loved watching you struggle.
Familiar hands settled right in.
Twisting around flesh.
Digging right in.
In. In. In.
Its fingers dug into skin.
Suffocating you.
Strangling you.
Hating you.
It was only natural.
You had no right to breathe.
Taking the steps you neglected to act on before only changed your field of view and established the extent of what he'd actually done. The aftermath of self-inflicted devastation offered a gruesome sight that'd never wash away.
The bleeding wasn't bad; it was utterly fucked.
Dulled senses picked up on the figure closing in, and with a slight turn of his head, the captain saw who.
“Damn.” Baji met your gaze. “Shoulda planned that better.” he said, almost light-heartedly, despite losing the means to stand.
It was such a shitty thing to say.
But you couldn't answer him.
Words refused to form.
This turning point was too grim.
The working order of things burned to ashes.
Weak legs crumbled beneath the weight of denial as you hit the ground with a thump. It was an undeniable fact that the course of life continued its motion, even if you couldn't process it.
Things kept happening.
Too many things.
They just kept happening, and you were stuck playing catch up.
Chifuyu rushed in to support Baji's weight, with the unrelated party stationed close by. Even if they were talking, it didn't improve Baji's circumstances. Not the blood seeping from his wounds. Not the complexion growing pale.
Not how hopeless their conversation seemed.
Not the words that brought you back.
“I died on my own,” he said, with tears in his eyes.
As if it served a purpose.
As if it meant something.
As if it excused anything.
“Mikey has no reason to kill Kazutora."
As if a parasite didn't exist at the root.
As if that was a fair exchange.
Mortal gods can't be killed.
—they just die on their own.
Delusional as you were, this scene projected itself as real. It differed from the Mobius incident. Draken didn't sabotage his body's chance of survival by slicing it open in front of a live audience. It wasn't as black as this.
Those you loved could never leave.
Those you loved could never die.
That was how things worked.
It was supposed to be.
After leaving the larva with a last word, Baji's gaze drifted to the unresponsive you. Amber eyes preserved an eternal flame, but that eternity was burning thin.
And you just couldn't accept that.
Digging into either thigh, your nails disregarded fabric and sunk into skin.
You tuned back in.
“Hey,” you chewed out. “If ya leave me, I'll never forgive you—I'll hate you, Mr. Baji.”
A pained chuckle sounded like he merely exhaled a bit too hard, as Baju followed with, “wouldn't expect any less.”
“—what?” came out, if only in disbelief. Rejecting his compliance, you shook your head. “No, you're supposed to say, 'it's Baji'. And… I said I'd hate ya, so.” You winced. “You're supposed to get mad at me.”
It was desperate; attempting to incite anger, to set off that volatile disposition, to prove he could still be Baji.
But he wasn't.
The failed act only validated the route this led to. The dreaded BAD END. In this playthrough there were no do-overs.
Baji would die.
He wouldn't progress past here.
October 31st.
A bond would physically sever. There would be no more to his story, and he would no longer be in yours.
No more fights, no more apologies, no more carefree days, no more having fun.
No more memories.
This was it.
The last entry.
This was what departure looked like.
Sickly tones replicated the complexion of bedsheet ghosts, as a golden core shifted to rust.
Tears carried the weight of reality down battered flesh. If amber eyes represented an eternal flame, then yours represented a world that'd endlessly drown.
You mourned for a god's mortality.
“You always lie.” Baji parted with an amused breath. “You said you wouldn't do that shit.”
“Yeah.” Letting out something that replicated a laugh, you answered, “I did.”
It was almost funny.
A few seconds ago, he was crying too.
After the countless times you broke that unrealistic pledge, it would've provided the perfect insurance. It was lame of him to dangle it in front of your face this close to the finish line.
The monster of a captain could handle anything.
Just not tears.
Finding levity in such a sad reality, you submitted freely, “guess I'm gonna get killed, huh?”
“Nah, I'm good,” Baji resigned. “If anyone else tries to, I'll just come back and kill them instead.”
“That's gonna be a lotta work to do. I have real bad luck, y'know?” Such light-hearted concerns tasted bittersweet. You continued, but it came out all wrong. Your voice wavered to convey, “I love ya Mr. Baji, and thanks for everything. It's… gonna be the worst without ya.”
“Cheer up.” The captain squinted, struggling to even look at you. “I'm just gettin’ a head start is all.”
Flimsy words acted as Baji's final means to comfort you.
Putting it into such light terms.
As if it were a mere game.
As if it weren't death.
“Yeah.” You nodded as overly bright eyes compensated for that black pit of a smile. “How very Baji of ya Mr. Baji… just don't forget about me before then, 'kay?”
Offering a gift of parting, he grinned, reminding you that stars existed in Tokyo, even if their existence would soon be of the past. It didn't change the fact that they once lived and breathed, and burned up too fast.
You were just lucky enough to see them.
“Don't see how I could.”
Sounded like goodbye.
Like this conversation was over.
Like it'd never pick back up.
Like a lot of things, but above all, the end.
Memories spun on loop and eroded by the second. Those happy times, those days spent together, warped with longing for more.
In a garden of this era, petals wilted with the present. Come tomorrow you'd play with weeds. Insignificant moments that once flourished would never bloom again.
Those happy times.
They'd rot black with tragedy.
And as much as you didn't want this conversation to end, as much as you wanted to soak up dwindling time.
You couldn't.
It was too selfish.
Others were suffering too.
Chifuyu bled a shade no one could see.
All he could do was provide the captain with a final place to rest, and it must've been just right. Baji seemed so peaceful from the comfort of his friend's lap.
Two delinquents shared a promise that couldn't be kept. They spoke of splitting food that one of which would never get to eat.
He looked so tired.
A god in human skin.
You burned the image into your flesh, because after today, you'd never see Baji Keisuke again.
This was it.
There was no epilog.
This was his final chapter.
He'd be referred to in the past tense.
It was where Baji's passage would end.
His story wouldn't progress any further than here.
It was his decision.
It was his, so…
No hard feelings.
Was that what the takeaway was supposed to be? All was forgiven? That was the meaning assigned to his death?
Senseless bloodshed.
Senseless death.
For there to be no one to blame?
No matter how righteous Baji's reasoning, you couldn't accept something like that. Because if there was no one to blame, what were you supposed to do with all of this? These emotions. The aftermath. The cleanup. Who were you supposed to aim this at? No one?
It was too cruel to ask that of someone.
It was cruel of you, Baji. Expecting that much.
People were just people, after all.
Mortals who weren't gods.
Humans were of a selfish breed, and you were the most selfish of them all.
You needed someone to blame.
You couldn't accept it.
Your friend gave up his life for this.
He'd live on as a concept; as the version of him each individual thought him to be. Baji would become an interpretation, a construction, snapshots of him. Not who or what he really was.
A person.
A living, breathing person.
× × ×
Beneath the orange light of a setting sun, shadows stretched along the sidewalk.
Specifically, two of the human variety.
In lukewarm pursuit, you tailed the captain, staying a few steps behind him at all times. Undetected as a TV ninja, you mimicked his every movement, thus halted as he came to a random stop. Swiftly, you masked your presence through the convenient cover of an alleyway, and watched for signs of his next move.
Baji looked over his shoulder and spoke.
“You're supposed to follow the other one around.”
It was a bust.
In the name of surrender, you gave up the convenient coverage and side-stepped back on route.
Cicadas sang a tune of departure for a day approaching its end. The setting sun amplified Baji’s image, as if he were the only thing keeping it from crashing directly into earth. As much of a shadow as he created, you squinted at the light he couldn’t hold back.
“I can't,” you said.
“And why can't you?”
“I got too clingy again, and Mr. Sanzu doesn't really like that. So…”
“So?”
“He said,” in your best Sanzu impression you repeated the off screen dialogue, “—'just give me a second to breathe.' I dunno where he went after that, but it was a super long second.”
“So how's that make you my problem?”
You shrugged, and responded with a carefree, “dunno.”
The answer was actually quite simple.
The day's meeting had already concluded, and by that point, everyone started heading their separate ways. Now one of three things could've happened.
1. You could've waited, in hopes that Sanzu would eventually come back for you.
2. You could've tried to get home on your own, which would've inevitably resulted in your demise.
3. Follow some sucker, and figure the rest out along the way.
The third option proposed you wouldn't technically be alone, even if there wasn't a mutual understanding of: haha, hey so, I'm following you.
Coincidentally, amongst the first division, Baji's face was the only one you retained aside from Sanzu's. Weird, since those were also the two people you feared most.
The lesson here is if you want to remember something, just develop a fear of it.
Results may vary.
Baji shook his head dismissively. “Well, c'mon,” he said, beckoning you forward with a wave.
You jumped on command and hurried next to him. Side by side, the odd pair continued on route to an undisclosed location, and thanks to the updated positions, Baji caught a good look at you. While yes, he did also see you at the meeting prior; it was at a distance. In contrast, this perspective painted quite a different picture.
An abstract one.
“The hell happened to your hair?” Baji asked, almost sounding offended.
His ridicule got misplaced as praise.
An influx of pride welled up; bubbled over, and spilled out from each mistreated strand. Despite the war on hair resting atop your head, you flaunted the problematic masterpiece of a chop job, and beamed brightly.
“It got done today. Whaddya think?”
“You should go back to whoever did that to you and break their fingers.” Baji corrected himself, “tell me where they work and I'll break their fingers.”
“I did it.” You blinked. “I did Mr. Sanzu's too, but then, this weird thing happened where he forgot how to talk for a few days. And guess what? Today, right after I cut my hair, Mr. Sanzu remembered how to talk again. Super weird, huh?”
“You did that?” Answering his own question, and nearly keeling over in the process, Baji burst out in an uproar of laughter. “No shit he left you there.”
As if there was something to laugh at, Baji carried on cackling like some old woman who got the latest scoop on her ex husband's ex wife's daughter, who just got fired from a prestigious company.
It was but a minor delay.
He made a speedy recovery and continued on his way as if he hadn't made a scene over—? Leave that part blank for now, because truthfully, you still didn't know.
Blindly following the captain, the expected destination was far and few from what it actually was. In your case, that was a wonderful, merciful, blessed outcome.
The imagination was a dangerous instrument, and by the grace of gods, you were lucky reality didn't take any tips from that headspace of an aberration.
For instance, you assumed the plastic bag Baji had on hand looked like it was full of weights because of the illegal weapons it harbored within. What else would people like him do in their free time? It turns out, harboring weapons as a hobby wasn't the definitive answer.
Location: alleyway.
Setup: super awesome.
A dumpster occupied a chunk of property within the narrow walls. Sure, it might've stunk worse than rot, but without sacrifice, there was no reward. The sense of smell was an inevitable casualty on this voyage, but those remaining would honor it as a hero for its unintended act of expiration.
It lived and died for a higher purpose, allowing you to remain within the radius of this stink pit.
You were invincible.
Scent wise.
Through the eyes of an average citizen who might’ve stumbled upon this alleyway, it'd be rational to suspect a ritual was taking place.
Rational by deranged standards.
Cracked tins of cat food formed a wide circle, with none other than Baji himself crouching in the center. Maybe that ritual statement wasn't far off the mark because you were enchanted by the incantation Baji used. Or more specifically, what it did.
Upon arrival, this place's only occupant was the x, y, z yucky-stuff. Except your eyes must've been bugged, since Baji summoned up a few cats within a few seconds of setting down the cans. Realistically, he must've opened up a dimensional portal with the cat food.
The summoned pack of paws expressed their pleasure through purring.
Primarily to the food source himself.
They weaved into the circle, rubbing against his legs, occasionally returning to their earthly feast.
Despite not having the designated title of food supplier, the pur balls included you as if you were. Psychical proof of the interaction dusted over your hands with soot, as you pet each visitor equally. While muddied coats made it impossible to distinguish each cat's color of origin, the state of cleanliness wasn't something you were concerned with, if at all.
You were just happy to be here.
“I got it,” you chirped in moderation, as to not alarm the feasting felines.
“Every 'thank you' idea you've come up with so far just sounds like things you'd do for someone you hate.”
“It's mean to bring up someone's past like that. Hey, let's just never look back since the future's so blinding and all.” Quick to dispose of the unseen exchange's carcass, you buzzed with new age excitement, yet Baji's face could almost be mistaken for apprehension. “'Here it is—the next time ya need a haircut I'll-”
“I’m growing it out,” Baji cut in with alarming force. “So don't offer something like that ever again or I'll get pissed.”
He sounded as intimidating as ever, but at a glance, he started to sweat.
The perspiration of passion, maybe?
In the name of lengthy locks, his devotion rewrote the meaning of devotee, it surpassed feeling and broke through to the physical world; it manifested itself on his skin.
Sweat based inspiration.
Guided by newfound respect for your captain, you stared at him intently as if you saw all of earth's ambitions within him. Bright eyes conveyed a link in resolve and, through a long, drawn out stare, you sent an influx of motivational spam mail via telepathy.
“Good luck on your hair growing travels. I know ya can do it, but I'll always be here if ya stray off the path.” With the same passion you'd offer someone who's about to take their medical license, you supported him with pumped up fists. “With scissors,” you specified.
In response, Baji scratched the back of his head, likely to stimulate growth.
It was heartwarming; for someone to confide in you—calling it a milestone might be a better term.
You felt like you understood him a bit more.
The tender moment of shared gazes between a newbie and her captain looked like a budding friendship. Comradery spread its roots throughout sewage and stagnant water. You lost your sense of smell long ago, but you couldn’t say the same about your captain. Truthfully, his senses were unlike those of an average human, so in a place like this, he must’ve been smelling something close to rotting flesh. That’s why his eyes were carving into you, not because he was glaring but because of scent factors.
Plus, Baji probably felt vulnerable after spilling his guts like that.
Yeah, he was embarrassed.
His timid side just happened to resemble blatant hostility.
A mere coincidence, really.
“Sounds to me like you really want your fingers broken.”
“Sorry.”
An immediate defeat.
Budding flowers of comradery burnt to a crisp.
The lax gaze of a predator watched you shrivel.
“What are you doing this for?” he asked, holed up within the inner ring of cat food. “I can't see why a wimp like you would wanna join a gang.”
The short-lived shriveling got put on pause indefinitely as you swung your head up. “Because.”
“Because ain't an answer.”
“But I want it to be, so I made it one.”
“That's not how that works.”
“Oh, okay, lemme think,” were the words you playfully alluded to, but there was no thinking involved. Firmly, as a matter of law, creation and everything else, you fired off the honest answer:
Because if I don't, I'll die.
“I know I'm not supposed to say that, but seriously. It's the truth,” you continued, as the opposing party simply raised a brow at your performance. “Haruchiyo's a real good person, y'know? I wanna be with him every second, so that's why… ah–wait. Do you got a fish mouth?”
“...huh?”
“Y'know like, hush, hush.”
“Are you asking if I can keep my mouth shut?”
“Ding, ding, ding,” you buzzed correctly.
Baji's gaze narrowed, passing judgment through the burnt confines of amber, he answered, “yeah, whatever, just cough it out.”
“The fake reason, the one I told Mr. Sanzu was—” Impersonating yourself, but a month younger, you said, “'I wanna get better at fighting,' but that wasn't it, the real reason is…” An honest smile spread as you revealed, “—I just wanna be with him all the time, that's it.”
As if blinking would resolve his expectations, Baji shut his eyes.
Nice and tight, he kept them closed.
And when they opened back up…
Reality proposed the same exact bullshit as before. That satisfied expression seemingly mocked the journey it took to get here. That gaze looking at him with content, as if the two of you came to some sort of understanding.
Well, spoiler warning! Amber eyes weren't filled with content and his expression wasn't reminiscent of anything satisfactory.
'Because I'll die', seemed like a phrase hand-picked for shonen greatness, but your followup destroyed that, and deviated to the shoujo route. The boy of raven haired descent obviously excelled in the former's age demographic vs the mundane disappointment it turned into.
Okay, sure, while it's technically not clear if that was his actual thought process during this little confession stand, it's not like you can go back in time and ask. Even if it was just a hypothesis, what else could it have been?
Nothing, exactly.
Moving on.
Baji wore his bitter defeat like a second identity.
If this story was anything, it was a betrayal of his expectations.
“You made it seem like it was gonna be something cool,” Baji's voice smudged with derision. “Plus you did it out of order, dumbass. You came clean before asking if I had a fish.”
“Fish mouth,” you corrected.
“Fish mouth, whatever, it shoulda came first.”
“My bad.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed out of irritation. “So answer this to make up for it; why are you so far up Sanzu's ass? Can't say he's the most charismatic guy I've ever met, so I can't help but wonder why.”
“Oh, I just…”
—really love good people.
Delicate words were finely strung to perfection.
Finely strung with meaning.
But simply conveying an idea doesn't make it universally felt.
“That's it?” Baji made no attempt to hide his disappointment. He emphasized it, if anything. “But that apartment you guys are at, it's just the two of you, ain't it?”
… huh?
People weren't supposed to know about that. You'd even avoided giving Baji your address this entire time for that reason. Did you let it slip at some point?
Your mouth felt dry as you searched for an alternative response.
Shaking your head from left to right, you replied, “I'm done.” This wasn't the sort of thing you were good at. Blatant refusal was the only playable card in your deck. “So, can we talk about something fun now?”
For a moment, Baji just stared.
Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to take it further or not.
But intentionally, or unintentionally, the intensity of his presence got lighter.
“Alright, fine—can’t promise it'll be any fun for you though.”
Baji's grin stretched to convey some something
unpleasant, so much that it had the potential to cause unnecessarily forced monologue, like:
Uh oh! He's sure up to something!
“You're a nice person,” you said out of the blue.
A soft fragrance amidst the odor of back alley sludge; the words came out as genuine.
Docile, you sat there. Hugging your knees with a lack of intent, a smile brushed over your features as a cat wrapped around your figure.
“That changed fast,” he said, in an aloof fashion, “but I think you got the wrong idea.”
“No, I don't. Mr. Baji's a super nice guy who likes cats and freezes up when girls cry,” upon delivery you cheesed, almost blindingly.
If you told him to die, he likely would've made a similar face.
“Nice try, but you only got one right. And I told you before.” Eternally bound, he made the correction, “it's Baji.”
“So ya don't like cats?”
You paid no mind to the name portion.
Or common sense, for that matter.
While Baji excelled at intimidation all on his own, the cat posse at his disposal only added to his intense aura. They added a modifier that gave unnecessary buffs to a player who could've honestly used a debuff or twenty.
The cozy little alleyway suddenly felt unsafe.
“You sayin' dumb shit just to say it?” he asked.
“Just kidding, lemme start over.” You smiled, retracting your prior compliment. “Mr. Baji’s a hellcat, and these guys are his loyal servants. Also, he's a super mean guy who laughs when girls cry.”
The cozy little alleyway regained its cozy title.
“That version sounds pretty badass.” Baji chuckled while his loyal servants expressed their devotion by tangling around his legs. “Alright, then what are you?”
You blinked, replying with the same airy disposition.
“Nothing.”
“Huh?”
“Y'know, like, nobody.”
“Nah, that one sucked. How's this?” No-good intent shifted further into troubling territory. Troubling indeed, for Baji initiated a round of rapid fire verbal assault. “You're some wimpy eccentric weirdo who's scared of a milk carton, so I can't say you're a hellcat, but I guess you're a loyal dog.” Baji cracked up. “Pretty great, huh?” He asked, proud of his own work.
“Woof,” you played along with the newly assigned role. “In dog, that means yeah.”
“—it's the best.”
“Also, I lied about the milkman thing,” you added.
× × ×
The grinning demon exhibited a bright display of canines. No amount of blood could dim the color he radiated, for the brightest star in Tokyo flickered ethereal white while he bled crimson red.
He made it seem enjoyable, the act of dying.
But when a smile like that fades, the void it leaves is on a cosmic scale.
It was as if he merely drifted to sleep after eating too much food.
There was no shame in sleeping it off.
He fell asleep in weird places all the time, it wasn't anything to spin out about.
It wasn't scary.
Chifuyu's lap was just too comfortable, so Baji went and dozed off.
It wasn't scary.
It was a power nap.
Once Baji woke up, he'd think it was a riot. Booming laughter over something that wasn't actually that funny. He'd be beside himself, and Chifuyu would end up feeding in too. Tears would form, and it'd shift to cracking up at one another's uproarious conditions. Then there'd be a comedown, with lulls of laughter branching further and further apart, composure slowly creeping back in.
It wasn't scary, see?
It wasn't scary at all.
Even if Chifuyu was yelling, even if he was in hysterics, it wasn't scary. It wasn't because this sort of thing didn't happen. Baji was taking a joke too far. He went limp to mess with Chifuyu.
That was why.
It had to be why.
Because if it wasn't.
It'd be scary.
It'd mean Baji was dead.
It'd mean this was permanent.
……………….
Wide eyed and vacant, the echo of a smile persisted through shock, but its lifespan got cut short.
Baji was dead.
He went and died on his own.
It was as if you stepped just outside of reality. The scene in front of you wouldn't settle in, or maybe this was the form it took. Within the realms of nothingness, it didn't hurt, it didn't sting, it didn't throb, it didn't feel like anything.
Empty.
It was empty here.
You floated along the current of nothing, spilling out everything that resembled anything.
There was nothing here.
Loss couldn't reach you.
Nothing could.
Not torment.
Not agony.
Not pain.
Not black, nor white.
As your gaze drifted back to the vice-captain, he stayed anchored to the physical world. Sorrows painted over Chifuyu's wounds, with eyes reddened by the strain of grief, he clung to dead weight. Your eyes mocked his display.
Baji looked like he was breathing.
The rise of his chest.
Faint movements.
Breaths.
Eager hands reached out and seized Baji's forearm, it conveyed the same warmth that was with him since birth. Emptiness in your stomach stirred with hope. Your fingers skittered up and down his wrist, grasping for any signs of a pulse. Any signs of life.
It had to be there.
Baji was breathing.
You could see him breathing.
“What are you doing?” Chifuyu raised his head and stared through disheveled features.
“I-” the words got stuck.
Nothing.
There was nothing.
Baji didn't have a pulse.
What you saw stood firm.
It looked like he was breathing.
He didn't have a pulse, so why?
Why did he look like that?
The subtle rise and fall of his chest.
Gentle movements in his face.
It didn't change the fact that Baji was dead.
You winced; intense features of the hellfire captain remained dormant, as they always would.
Averting your gaze, you set his wrist free. There was no reason to cling to hopeless ideations. Freaking Chifuyu out was all you'd achieve.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
“Does it look like he's breathing?” Chifuyu formatted it as a question, but didn't allow room for an answer. “He's not.” Delivering the statement as fact, he looked down at Baji with the same despair. “No matter what it looks like, he's dead.”
Needing Chifuyu to clarify such a self-evident fact was like putting cleaning solution in a cup and telling him to drink it.
You forced him to say it.
You still didn't get it, and you forced him to say it.
Despite this corner of the world, those outside of it were involved in separate affairs. The condition of events, voices, anything besides what was directly in front of you didn't exist.
Capable of instilling fear from afar, a presence entered the proximity. Mikey regained the mortal parts of himself, for the burden of regret and mourning was a notion humans alone could carry.
“I'm sorry, Baji.”
To Mikey, his motives made sense.
And as for the rest, well, who could say?
The string of events got displaced somewhere along the way, but for right now, everyone who was anyone stopped everything to grieve.
Yet, as if Mikey's voice tipped off the police, sirens wailed in the distance. A sound that forced people to act, no matter the faction and no matter the circumstances, twisted as they may be.
The only noise worse than a siren was the one that came next, the one that announced.
—I'm staying with Baji.
“You guys go.” Kazutora bowed his head. “It was my fault. I want to take responsibility.”
“Got it.” Mikey turned his back on the parasite.
“Toman's leaving too,” Draken called out.
Just like that—it was over.
Toman's leaving too, was what he said.
But it sounded like, leave his body behind.
Leave it with the person who killed him.
That was the fucked up conclusion to all of this.
Look, not all endings are happy ones. In case it wasn't obvious, bad ends don't entail the best outcomes. If you wanted a good one, well—it's a bit late for that, don't you think? The chain of events are all set in stone. Death is irreversible, after all.
This reality is the one you're stuck with.
One BAD END out of the majority you've avoided is an accomplishment! Don't be a sore loser.
Or did you forget?
You could've prevented it.
Think back a bit and you'll see all the missed opportunities. No, not just today, further. Back, back, back. See? Your desire to get him back was so passive, you left it up to a stranger.
What, was it too uncomfortable for you?
You saw the signs and did nothing. I mean, the comfort of your own ignorance was at stake, so really, what other option did you have? I for one support your decision. Some sacrifices just aren’t worth it in the end, though in this case, the trade-off turned out to be human life.
It’s a shame.
But still—
Again and again.
It was your decision.
So don't be a sore loser.
The least you can do is bow your head to this 'fucked up' conclusion, though with how you are, that was unlikely.
Too bad.
You're only hurting yourself.
The follow-up to Draken's words harbored a painful sight.
Blackened by the grip of despair, Chifuyu's gaze fell upon his friend one last time. It couldn't have been easy.
You half expected him to ignore the instruction.
But he didn't.
Despite the heartbreak entwined with goodbyes, Chifuyu shifted the body Baji left behind and gently rested the slumbering god's head against the ground.
The comfort of a lap was gone.
Even so, Baji could sleep anywhere.
With the remnants of tears rubbed off on his sleeve, Chifuyu got to his feet. “Here,” he said, extending his hand out to you.
“…”
You couldn't take his hand.
You didn't want to.
At your side, closed fists grew tighter. You knew which hand it was. You could feel it. Dried blood imitated the texture of cheap adhesive as it clung to each finger that pressed in. Baji left so much of himself behind and it continued to fry your ability to react properly.
Perpetual shock.
A disconnect.
The inability to feel this to its fullest extent.
Your emotions mimicked the image produced in a clouded mirror when the permanence of loss, instead, should've prompted the carnage of emotional havoc.
The body expressed self-love in the many ways it kept itself safe, so that initial blow of shock was all it needed to receive.
The psyche had implemented a defensive retreat.
It severed itself to protect you.
If it hadn't, then the bloody dilemma in hand would've really thrown things to the pits. Trying to wipe it off had only done so much. The day was black, and its attributes wouldn’t be so easily cleansed.
You endured it.
And hated it.
Crimson had darkened with the anguish of separation and the downfall of its origin. Shunned from the world, the essence of loss existed within your grasp.
The sensation was nauseating.
And while only one hand was out of commission.
You still couldn't take Chifuyu’s hand.
You didn't want to.
How could you just up and leave?
It was another cruel expectation.
To leave Baji behind.
To leave him with that parasite.
—with a murderer.
To leave him with the trigger of his own death.
You didn't want to, not with someone like that.
So you didn't reach out.
You didn't respond.
You didn't exist.
But what you were doing to Chifuyu.
—It was mean.
“I don't want to either, but,” dropping the sentence after 'but', he struggled to finalize his thoughts. “We can't stay here,” he urged.
The fog of vacancy had wilted his typically vibrant features, but came to show signs of relief. Chifuyu's failed attempts at persuasion ended as his active role swapped out. In contrast to using words, the next method went straight for the kill. Yanked up by your arm, you got forced to your feet.
“C'mon,” a familiar voice cut in.
One that had all the answers.
One that was always right.
One that’d been absent.
It felt like you hadn't seen Sanzu in days, yet it was just one awful sight after the other. Blood crusted over one of his brow and left an explicit trail below. If ever there was a fight gone wrong, this one was the worst. He honestly looked two seconds from needing a hospital.
One that was always right.
One that’d been absent.
It felt like you hadn't seen Sanzu in days, yet it was just one awful sight after the other. Blood crusted over one of his brows and left an explicit trail below. If ever there was a fight gone wrong, this one was the worst. He honestly looked two seconds from needing a hospital.
You were quick to avert your eyes.
If shame were a backpack, its burden would've flattened you into particles. Even without a psychical form, the pressure of its hold pressed you down, smaller and smaller. Self-worth bellied up at self-hate as the extent of your use came to light.
You did a bad job today.
You always did.
Through a brutal set of injuries, Sanzu kept one eye scrunched shut. It wasn't clear if he did it out of pain or because he couldn't see. No, it had to be the former because when the world played its worst cards, he always started with the same line.
“Hey, look at me.” His hand gripped your shoulder with a tug, to which you readjusted your gaze. Firmly, Sanzu stated, “I know it fucked, but we have to go.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died before they formed.
The dead eventually decompose.
And you.
You'd always be the same.
But leaving Baji here;
With that person.
That bad person
That parasite.
It seemed so inhumane.
Ever approaching sirens wailed with a melody of departure, but in that moment, Sanzu's voice dug deeper than their cry.
“There's no changing what already happened. So just… come on.”
A tugging on your wrist put you in motion.
You turned your head and watched.
But dead bodies don't move.
They only get further away.
And further away.
Further.
In a city where stars didn't reach, one burnt out.
They say the first time's the worst.
The passing of life.
Departure.
Death.
A god died.
Your friend died.
Baji Keisuke died.
A good person died.
He went and died all on his own.
Goodnight, Mr. Baji.
Let's play baseball again soon, okay?
Afterwards we'll eat out at that fancy place. For real this time, no freak outs or tears.
And you'll smile like you always do, right Mr. Baji?
Chapter 33 will be up at some point today! This was 100 % the most taxing chapter I've had to write so far, I just?? Cried so much during the writing process?? I'm glad it's over and equally devastated :"D
Alright since I just went back a re-watched all the LoTR movies, here's a core memory about my first self-ship:
Okay so I could've only been 6 or 7 when the first movie came out and I was IN LOVE literally, IN LOVE with Legolas. So I had this diary I'd just draw adventures of us in, with bare minimum descriptions at the top. So I was in the back of my dads car, drawing us together as per usual and my dad starts questioning me and is like "AMBER, WHAT ARE YOU WRITING IN THERE??" and immediately fighting for my life I go, "I'm not gonna tell you" >:( and then he comes back with an angry, "AMBER I'M YOUR FATHER, TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE WRITING RIGHT NOW." And well my child brain couldn't comprehend that he was messing with me and not actually mad, so I'm in the back of the car CRYING reading him my barely legible Legolas fanfiction that honestly probably read something like: ME AND LEGOLAS ARE FIGHTING BAD GUYS
On a side note, I also cried when I found out Orlando Bloom didn't look like Legolas IRL which is completely valid imo
Holy ever loving blippin HHH I KNEW okay, I KNEW chapter 33 was going to be hard to write, some parts aren't even sad but I'm GETTING SO SENTIMENTAL OVER THIS I don't recall ever crying, just consistently CRYING while writing a chapter like??? It's mildly inconvenient??? I've never wanted to write a chapter less, like I've become so attached to Baji throughout all these months T^T IT'S SUCH A BITTER FEELING EEECK
an // I dreaded uploading this on here, Tumblr mobile + long docs is just..
This will only hurt as much as you let it.
I'm an eccentric monster.
I shouldn't sleep next to pens.
Aluminum is my favorite metal.
Lemon is my favorite scent.
There are doves in my window
and a God at my door.
There are gods in the future,
and a God right next door.
There’s a dog in my heart,
and I keep barking for more.
There were some people in this world who, under no circumstances, should be asked; ‘are you okay?’ Primarily, the individuals with absolutely no control over themselves. Ignoring them at all costs would be of sound judgment.
Really, no one would think any less of you.
It might even lead to a spike in approval ratings.
Namely, from the neighbors.
“And then,” you wept, “and then,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I called him a shit-head asshole,” you bawled, spilling over accordingly.
Forget about approval ratings, Chifuyu shot up to number one on your neighbor’s hit lists.
Even if all he did was knock on your door, that meager action was enough to spark a one sided blood feud from hell. He could’ve knocked on any door in the world, but he had to interact with the one marked: don’t engage.
Chifuyu broke an unspoken rule.
Now, a penalty of neighborly glares dwelled upon him.
Not that the opinion of those deadbeats mattered. Aside from not mattering, their wrath was as threatening as dust. Due to the routine endeavors of binge drinking, those deadbeats found themselves critically handicapped at the dawn of each new day.
And thus oozed with hatred for all things during daytime sobriety.
Just as they'd love them come nightfall.
You could cry.
Chifuyu could knock.
Inevitably, they'd forget.
Honing a falcon grip onto Chifuyu’s shoulders, your head drooped, as it could no longer withstand the weight of despair. Both parties stood just outside your door since it wouldn’t be much of an attraction if it wasn’t out in the open. Yes, the second story walkway acted as the perfect stage for broadcasting your distress to the mites below. Free admission came with an uneventful display, seeing as it took until now for you to perform a coherent sentence. Chifuyu, despite initiating the checkup, had been no more than an unspoken advisor to this teeming performance.
In your line of emotions, there was no shortage of tears.
You undoubtedly had the capability to drown the world if you wished to do so.
Fortunately, for humanity's sake, that wasn’t a priority.
“Hey, it's not that bad.” Chifuyu awkwardly attempted to soothe you with a few pats on the head. “You've said a lot worse, so.”
“So?” Your head shot up.
“So there's no need to worry about it.” He beamed in a manner that hinted his origin was actually that of the sun. “It's fine.”
You felt touched well beyond any good reason. Yes, you saw the light!—until a pesky pest felt the need to stop blending in.
It was as if he sensed your fleeting joy and wished to neutralize it.
Such was the nature of pests.
“Huh?” Sadness dissolved into vague hostility as you perceived the blonde intruder. “Where'd you come from?”
Of bleached hair and eyes that avoided contact, he was coming up hot on the scumbag radar. While worms were one matter, this breed was another. No, no, not a roach. At least cockroaches had that spunky ‘we’ll never die!’ energy to them, so in this case, they were the superior nuisance. This guy, on the other hand, had a squishable presence.
Truly, the worst category of pests.
A larva.
“Ah,” he 'ah'ed in a pesky fashion. “I've been here this whole time, but I guess I came from the stairs.” As if paying his respects to the superior pest, his gaze skittered around like a roach.
“Oh, I'm happy ya cleared that up.” Your expression softened. “So, you're just some creep whose creepy eyes can't decide on one creepy spot. Why creep up just one spot when ya can creep 'em all up, right?” The intensity of your presence hiked with every deliverance of 'creep', and it was only getting worse. “Yup. Creep to the creepo, I guess there's no shame in being a creep these days, huh?”
“Wait, it's not like that.” He waved his hands in front of his face spastically. “My name’s Hanagaki Takemichi and ah…”
He fell flat on his face in the verbal sense.
Lucky for him, he had the highest ranked support on standby.
“He's gonna get Baji back,” Chifuyu chimed in with an overwhelming recovery.
“Really?” Your warmth was damn near immediate. Raising either fist, you leaned forward in anticipation. “Ya really will?”
“Without a doubt!” he mindlessly fed into the tempo.
You were an easily swayed creature.
It was like an infinite game of heads or tails, and tails just exhibited a triple flip to land on heads.
“I'll seriously love ya forever, Tameniki,” you said, switching up faster than a thought.
“It's Takemichi,” he corrected.
“Sorry, Tareiki.”
“No… Takemichi.”
“Tafumichi.”
“...”
“Nakemachi.”
“You're doing that on purpose, right?”
“Doing what on purpose?” Tilting your head to one side, you pressed a puzzled hand to your cheek. “Damelichi?”
“It's getting further…” His adrenalin was quickly wearing into nonexistence with each new adaptation of his name.
“Taketakemimichi?”
“Almost, just without the middle.”
“Hafunarahengaichi?”
“That one wasn't even…” His spirit progressively shriveled.
“Ichi?”
“Good job.” Chifuyu patted you on the shoulder as an added bonus of reinforcement.
It was common knowledge that most people weren't born with bandages and splints. Yet, the blonde with an undercut sported both.
How peculiar.
How very, very strange.
What could it mean?
“Hmm.” Altering the direction of your focus, it finally registered the downright wretched state of your vice-captain. Wretched meaning beaten to a pulp and put back together with the peels. “Hey, didja get jumped Chifuyu?”
“Sort of,” he said in a wishy-washy manner. “But no worries, I took care of them.”
“How very Chifuyu of ya.”
“Right.” Accepting his name as a compliment, he continued on to separate matters. “Well, I mainly stopped by to make sure you weren't worrying too much. So, if you feel like worrying again, just remember that we'll have it handled before too long.”
“Okay,” you said, with nothing but compliance. “I wish I could help but I’m not good with stuff like this.” Scrunching your brows, you looked at the vice-captain. “Thanks for doing all the hard stuff, Chifuyu…” You looked at the other guy. “Takomichi.”
“C'mon, don't thank us yet,” Chifuyu complained through a chummy demeanor.
“Right.” You nodded with a smile. “Well, I'll love ya no matter what, Chifuyu.” Looking back to the other blonde, you flipped the figurative coin back to tails. “Don’t mess up or I’ll hate ya forever, ‘kay?”
“Yeah,” his response was nothing short of dead serious. “I promise I won’t.”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll shave your eyebrows off, ‘kay?”
“...huh?”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll rip out all your fingernails, ‘kay?”
“—!”
In seconds flat, the third rate blonde looked to be visibly sweating. The rippling presence of a predator just had that effect on some people, except—not really.
You, along with Chifuyu, only lasted a total of four seconds before bursting out in formerly restrained laughter.
When it came to first impressions, your track record spelled out 'don't engage', in thick red ink. In that first initial stage, some unknown force drove you to be the absolute worst. Like a fundamental instinct, similar to how cats feel drawn to screw with anything that can’t kill them, not out of necessity, but just because.
The same shouldn't apply to basic human interactions, yet here we are.
It was such a foreseeable occurrence that even Chifuyu anticipated it.
“My bad. Ya seemed super tense, so,” you said, offering something that made no attempt to resemble an apology.
If it resembled anything, it was a justification.
“Was that supposed to make it better?” the person of many names breathed out.
“Not really,” you admitted.
“Sorry Takemitchy.” Chifuyu's laughter died out as he handed out an authentic apology, as well as a chummy pat on the back. “Well, at least you seem serious about this.”
Wrapping up with a few parting ‘goodbyes’, the rescue squad departed, and you stepped back inside. You had a dirty schedule today, aka helping an adult with adult matters.
Yes, scum incarnate.
In an odd hurry, you tended to the excess remains of food prep by escorting them to the trash. Yet, catching an unwanted glimpse of the cans' innards, a society of business cards waved hello.
—you did a bad job yesterday.
-
One might think this scene was directed straight from a dump, a scrap heap even, but no. From the comfort of a dingy lot within a dingy complex, the ultimate scumbag reigned supreme. Battered in oil and whatever else, Mr. Scumbag wore his gross crown beneath a scrap of something that played make-believe vehicle. Meanwhile, you (unfortunately) crouched beside his greasy legs and waited for his (lack of) direction.
“You alright kid? You haven’t threatened me today,” he asked, obviously high off of motor oil.
“Oh. Right.” You took an exasperated breath. “I’ll key your car, something, something, hot-wire, blackmail.”
It was hardly an attempt.
You couldn’t be bothered with details.
Escaping from the underside of the car, Mr. Scumbag sat up, wiped some excess car residue on his pants for good luck, and then proceeded to focus all his filthy attention on you.
“C’mon kid, out with it. What’s wrong?”
Without an ounce of restraint you replied, “I was lost and got into the car with a bad person.”
Who would’ve guessed scumbags could look uglier than their default model? Beneath a lifetime of filth, the muscles in Mr. Scumbag’s face tightened up, as if to make up for all the years he'd let himself go.
Honestly, you weren’t sure what he was trying to do, but he should probably stop.
It looked painful.
“Did they do anything to you?” Mr. Scumbag pressed, exhibiting an intensity that threatened to singe every last filthy fuse of his ancient hardware.
You shook your head, allowing Mr. Scumbag to take a much needed sigh. It was like someone held down the button to his power supply, because the short-term defect got fixed back to default.
Not that it was much better (it was).
No matter the model, a scumbag’s still a scumbag, you just happened to have a preference.
Resigning all intensity, Mr. Scumbag continued, “why didn't you call me instead?”
“'Cos,” you said blankly, “ya don't have your phone number on a card.”
“A business card?”
You shrugged, raising your hands.
Standing up, stained hands searched through stained pockets. After a bout of ruining already ruined clothes, he pulled out a card.
A folded and crumpled ‘business’ card smeared with oil.
Was he a hypocrite or what? The first rule was to wear gloves.
Reaching out, you accepted the oily token of business. As always, you could read the numbers, but kanji was still a work in progress. The fresh stain was likely his translation of ‘dirty deadbeat with a business for hire’.
“I'm being serious now,” Mr. Scumbag said, marking now as a serious milestone. “Where are your parents?”
“On vacation.”
You needed a tape recorder for moments like these.
Specifically, for Mr. Scumbag, since his memory couldn’t retain the answer.
He shook his head, falling into a deep silence.
Scumbags shouldn’t be left to think on their own. God only knows what they’ll come up with.
“I know it won't do much good at this point, but.” He scratched his head. “I can take care of you until they get back. The other one too. It’d be better than having something like that happen again.”
“Wow, ya finally went off the deep end, huh?” You asked, displaying the same authentic nature as a person who donates money to charity.
“Can’t say I wasn’t expecting something like that,” he admitted. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here. Just make sure to call me if you need help, alright?”
“Got it,” you replied, though your spirit was still lacking. “I just remembered, I need help. So hand over all the dirty business money you've been hoarding.”
At this point, you just sounded bored.
A joyless endeavor of lame proportions.
“Listen, I'm not hoarding money, so drop it already.”
“But you're working all the time. So, if you're not hoarding it, then ya must be spending it on sinful adult stuff.”
Mr. Scumbag opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out other than his faith for humanity.
“Whatever,” you said, up and ready to drop the eternal war, “I fold.”
Fed up with crouching, you plopped down onto ever uneven asphalt and hit the GAME OVER screen.
The world was a child and you were a roll of bubble tape.
There was no potential of forming a truce between those two.
“Will you stop lookin’ so sorry if I explain it?”
Even if he was a spectator, Mr. Scumbag didn't want the game to end yet. He was shoving pocket lint into the coin slot as a last-ditch attempt. That was the kind of person he was, one who stuffed arcade games full of trash.
That was what people did when they got to his age.
They came up with solutions that made no sense.
You really couldn’t get mad at him for trying.
“Dunno yet. Maybe? I can predict so little that ya might activate my thirst for world domination instead, but who knows?” You shrugged ambiguously. “It might be world peace.”
“Not the answer I was looking for, kid.”
“Well, if ya want someone to lie about the future, then go watch the news. I gotta preserve honesty, or whatever.”
“Can't say I believe that last part.”
“C'mon, stop holdin' out and cough it up already Mr. Scumbag.”
“Alright, alright.” He crossed his arms and released a disclaimer, “just know that it's not as interesting as it is in your head.”
Mr. Scumbag, a modest man.
—said no one ever.
“How sad,” you let out, guided by the hand of fraudulent exasperation, “I'm already way disappointed.”
In a dingy complex, in a dingy lot, a greased up middle aged man and a teenager occupied asphalt. Facing one another with legs crossed, both parties tuned out the passing gazes of those who weren’t invited to story-time-for-two. The environment was as immersive as it was inconvenient for others. It wasn’t actually inconvenient, but people, y’know? Either way those mites didn’t matter.
Oil was in the air and story-time commenced.
“Okay kid, lemme start by saying, all this we do on the weekends, I don't see a penny of it. The shop's a bit of a different story, but this profit here.” He banged on the death-scrap vehicle. “Isn't going into my pocket.”
“Did it grow legs? 'Cos I'm not buying it Mr. Scumbag.”
“No, it didn't grow legs, just hang on for a second.” He took a breath, well aware of the concentration needed to pull this off. “So, you know about my sister, right?”
“Uh-huh. Ya ditch me some weekends to go watch her house and kid. She must be a real good person if she lets ya inside.”
“Nice way of putting it, but yeah. When she picks up overtime, I go and watch her kid. Pretty simple,” he explained. “Now, a while back, some scumbag went and robbed her place. It's not like she's rich or anything, but still, that piece of shit found the money she'd been saving. To make matters worse, it was supposed to be for the kids' college fees. The whole thing tore her up pretty bad, it was a damn shame.”
His words came out as free and easy, yet emotion snuck out through a fine series of cracks. Leaking out through the ever merciless color, black; it looked like regret. While it shouldn't have bothered you, it did. Because even if adults were the worst, sometimes they were good people.
Mr. Scumbag was a lot of things, but he wasn't a bad person.
He was a good person.
A really, really, really good person.
Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people.
And bad people shouldn’t exist.
“Geez, that's seriously messed up,” you said in disgust. “I mean, for you to say they're a scumbag, they gotta be the scummiest.”
“Yeah, well, they still never caught the piece of shit. But either way, that's why we're here now.” He breathed out a conclusive breath. “I didn't want kids of my own, so I figured the best I could do was help hers have a good life. That’s how I got into doing these extra jobs on the weekend. I wanted to help my sis make up her losses, y’know?”
“Oh. Weird. I guess I never would've blinked your way if ya weren't a weekend mechanic, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He released a hearty laugh from his gut. “See what happens when you try an’ do something good?”
Yeah, you pick up a kid who’s keen on hot-wiring and blackmail.
It was as the saying goes; if you don’t want fleas, don’t go outside.
He knew the risk.
“Not really, but hey.” The corners of your eyes creased as you flashed Mr. Scumbag your cheesiest grin. “If ya ever find out who did it, I'll beat 'em up for ya. On the house.”
“Appreciate the offer, but I'd rather do it myself.”
—huh?
Was that your heart just now? If so, then why did it sound like it shattered? On second glance, what were those fragments sticking out of Mr. Scumbag’s hands? If you were in your right mind, you’d say it was your heart, but was it? Was that your heart? Was this his attempt at murder? Did he just try to kill you?
No, don’t be silly.
That was just how feelings worked.
“I dunno why, but that denial kinda hurt Mr. Scumbag.”
“Sorry kid,” he said, brushing off the anomaly with ease. “Well, I hope putting my family's dirty laundry out there got you back to the typical routine.”
By routine, he could've only meant spirited verbal assault.
Mechanic roughly translates to masochist.
“Yeah, I dunno why ya thought that'd cheer me up, but at least I see ya in a new light, and that's-”
“Y'know, I'm gonna stop you while you're ahead.” He pressed his hands against the asphalt in an attempt to stand. “So, let's pick this up another time.”
“Wow.” You beamed fluffily. “You’re way better at predicting the future than all those phonies on TV.”
Making a handful of pained, yet overdramatic groans as he got to his feet, Mr. Scumbag took note, “I can't help but think that's the first time you directed something at me that wasn't an insult.”
“Ya thought super well, but seriously.” Dialing back the banter for just a moment, you continued earnestly, “thanks Mr. Scumbag, and sorry about your sis. I bet she's a good person too.”
Though your words were sincere, you tensed up as the recoil damage of embarrassment threatened to move in.
You weren't ready to lie down and die in front of an adult just yet.
Preemptively shutting down his chance to reply, your reflexes protected you from any real or imagined emotions that threatened to follow. “Don't respond,” you chittered in a torrential downpour of half-assed defenses. Armed with the intent of extracting yourself from the scene, you sprung to your feet. “Ever,” you specified, moving forward with a strategic retreat.
Scampering off in a mad dash, you traversed the crumbling prison of asphalt to escape the scummiest adults' home field advantage. Ascending stairs that followed their own wobbly protocol, the repetition of each step clanked against metal; a song of rust declared the sensitive crisis as averted.
It was a close call.
The reservoir of embarrassment nearly got tapped for some masochist mechanic.
It wasn't actually a big deal, but talking was just like that sometimes. You say things. Countless things. Expected things. Wholehearted things. While you say all these things, you don't always know how the other person might respond.
And that was scary.
Unanticipated rejection was scary.
The vulnerability of speaking one's truth was an unnerving force.
Yet you were glad you spoke yours.
Even if it wasn't much.
It was something.
-
Staring at the playing cards that spelled 'lose already', your mind drifted elsewhere. The day wasn't dead yet, and Sanzu came back earlier than anticipated, meaning yet another close call with watching the banned genre. There was something about the fear of getting caught that upped the overall quality of it.
Funny how those things worked.
Sanzu was paying as much attention to the game as you were, yet it came with the title of the best to win even while absorbed in television. The month of October was horror's best buddy, and in this moment, that was Sanzu's best buddy. Piercing screams came out as crackled, not that they were broadcast that way, but due to creative differences, the old-as-time television conveyed it as such.
Media was one of a kind here, limited edition even.
Watching the TV's portrayal of the program, Sanzu placed down another card, successfully cutting your likelihood of survival into whatever it was from the start, because at no point was the survival rating anything besides death: wait times may vary. Sealing the loser's fate, you placed another card and died accordingly.
Your cheek slumped into the support of a loser's hand as you dwelled on a scary thought that wasn't horror. “Are dates only for people with money?”
Sanzu shook his head. “I doubt it. Money just makes it convenient.”
“So that means we've gone on lots of dates, right Mr. Sanzu?”
Through an always breezy gaze, Sanzu catered to cards of bent edges and scuffs, working them back into the deck. Placid in presence, your words weren't cause for a ripple or wave, but there was happiness in that which didn't change.
And Sanzu would always be the same.
Even if he wasn't.
Pushing the remaining cards back into the deck, Sanzu offered a careless reply.
An utterly careless reply.
“I guess.”
Expecting a dictionary of passive aggressive retorts as well as every term that opposed confirmation, the forecast for the day was flawed beyond recovery.
Off guard and fizzing, playful tactics worked against you as you toppled into a blend of distress.
The loser's fate carried out its duty.
“Hey,” you whined. “I’ll die if ya surprise me too much.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, not alluding to a microfiber of concern. “That's fine. What I meant to say was no, if I had to choose between going on a date with you or murdering everyone in this complex, I’d choose murder every time.”
Honing an unphased presence meant nothing.
Sanzu's eye to eyebrow ratio spoke in microfiber.
Yet the malicious intent of his words transcended into a separate life-form.
A cosmic shadow swirled black.
“—kidding ♡,” you chimed. “And besides, do ya really think one complex is enough? I mean, eventually there wouldn’t be any left. So, you’d only be stalling.”
“I think the guilt would get to you before that point.” Pushing loose strands back behind his ear, Sanzu effortlessly dominated today's blonde lineup. “Well, Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Ever heard of it, or should I explain?”
“Watch what ya say Mr. Sanzu, ‘cos if I fall for ya any more, it might get scary.”
“And what part should I be watching?” Placing the deck of cards to the side, Sanzu humored you with judgment. “Honestly, if that's how you feel, then maybe I should take you to the hospital instead.”
Delivering a scraping shriek against the floorboards, your chair propelled back, and you sprung to your feet as if reenacting the wake-up sequence of televised boot camps.
It’s all fun and games until the hospital gets brought up.
Then it’s fear fueled submission.
“I’ll follow ya to the depths of hell, really anywhere. Just don’t make me go to the hospital.”
“I’m happy to hear you think hospitals are more threatening than hell.”
“Yup, it’s no good to be picky, so I only picked one.”
“And which one was that? Negligence?”
“Huh?” You tilted your head to a puzzled degree. “What made ya say that?”
“Because hospitals shouldn’t be your only concern,” Sanzu said. “But since you don't have an issue with it, I won't get in your way.”
“No worries Boss, I have loads of shady concerns, like Mr. Scumbag's apartment and the news HQ.” Your eyebrows knit apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t want ya to think I was picky.”
“It’s not like it'd matter either way.”
Did he say he was in love with you? Because that was how it sounded.
All jokes aside, 'let’s go', was underway.
A masterfully stuffed dresser fell to the mercy of Sanzu, who tried pulling out a singular article of clothing but ended up with a handful. The long-term effects of over-packing triggered the abused storage unit's wrath.
A dresser's wrath wasn't all that intimidating.
It was slightly irritating at most.
What was more irritating was the furniture industry. Yeah, the furniture industry. Those schmucks. Where did they get off thinking they could charge so much for a box? It was a slippery slope; once humans realized they could store clothing somewhere other than the ground, the furniture industry had already won. And now, in present day Japan, those schmucks want six months of rent for a box.
Let that sink in.
A box.
That’s the power we gave them.
And now, formerly handed down thanks to the expiration of an elderly neighbor; the joint dresser had a workload of two. So, in regards to the clean clothes now on the floor, the fault fell on none other than those box hoarding schmucks. Maybe, if they weren’t an organization based off greed, that poor dresser wouldn’t need to spit up a spectacle of fabric every time an item was required.
Hardly sparing a glance at the scene of the crime, Sanzu scooped up the evidence and discarded it. Boxes, aside from their insides, have formidable outsides, primarily the backup storage of a flat surface. Unconcerned with the evidence's wellbeing, he tossed the evicted clothes onto the spot known as storage v2.
Tossed and then sorted.
Wrinkles were an ally of scumbags, after all.
Besides the roaches deployed by none the ruler of filth himself, this was an anti-scum household.
Targeted by a fabric missile, you caught the pullover delivered via air mail. While you appreciated the present, it wasn’t necessary considering it was still warm outside. Maybe this was Sanzu’s way of saying ‘burn to death’.
Putting on a display of question mark-esque confusion, Sanzu came prepared with period-esque answers.
“We’ll be gone for a while.”
“Mmm…’kay!”
Compliance turned into second nature once the whisper of a hospital entered the equation.
The series of events that came next included bus stop to train stop forms of travel. Though remaining in the dark in terms of the destination, you could grasp minimal details.
Far.
It was far.
Had you ever traveled this far?
No, probably not.
But also—maybe?
Who knows, you were a bad judge.
Engulfing the sky in a sea of flames, sunlight glared through each window to cast shadows by your feet. The train huffed along, lacking interest in the scenery it passed along the way.
Though you did the same.
Occupied with interpreting the row of ads overhead, one depicted a popular makeup brand often featured on TV.
Defined by flawless powders and contours, the models they used were always pretty.
You wanted to look like them one day.
Adults had it all, didn't they?
Seated side by side, the duo played tug of war in the verbal sense as a woman's voice broadcasted any multitude of stops before Sanzu decided on one.
You didn’t know where you were, and you didn’t care to ask.
It was foreign and far.
A part of you wasn’t sure Sanzu even knew where you were, considering the extent of wandering that’d taken place. Honestly, where the hell were you? This prefecture had so much space in between houses and structures, they must’ve all been sitting on some hefty coins by Tokyo standards.
Not to mention the tree to tree horizon.
A truly intimidating sight.
Man-made buildings were a known evil.
Trees were a natural one.
From the perspective of someone who was directionally incompetent, it was a safe practice to never question those who were competent. Although, amidst this adventure, you’d seen a repetition of the same cat statue outside strikingly similar storefronts. Or the same one. Who could say? Obviously not you.
“I wonder, are we lost?” You asked, attached to Sanzu’s arm.
Don't get the facts screwed up. It wasn't out of fear of him leaving you here. That wasn't what any of this was about. Either way, you clung to him like a koala to a branch.
“No. I’m not you,” Sanzu shot back, unable to reclaim his arm.
“Right as always, Mr. Sanzu. I guess everyone around here must have the same taste in statutes, huh?”
Sanzu ceased all movement.
Looked to his left.
Looked to his right.
Recalibrated, then rerouted.
On the new and improved path of travel, the sights were essentially the same until a set of steps missing a step came into view—barely, thanks to the shedding aid of overgrown foliage. From the observatory glance of a professional, it led up into the woods.
It wasn’t looking good for you.
The only thing forests were good for was murder.
And nature walks, but meh?
Murder was a more interesting assumption.
Well, it was as per the October spirit.
At least it wasn’t a hospital.
Climbing the questionable steps with fingers entwined in an ultimate knot, the bright side of this ordeal was you wouldn’t get left behind. Sure, Sanzu made a few passive attempts at pulling away, but if you were good at anything, it was clinging. His hand was at the mercy of a borderline threatening grip. Anything less than construction equipment or consent wouldn’t pry you off.
Branching off this way and that, there were as many paths as a maze enthusiast could dream of. Though, of a maze of enthusiasts' nightmares, there were also occasional signs aiding with direction. Dead leaves crunched under your feet as you matched Sanzu's every step. Through a varying density of trees and plant life in their decaying stage, the duo strayed from the path into off the grid territory.
“Okay,” Sanzu said out of the blue.
He stopped, somewhere that looked identical to all the rest. A spot with barren trees and dried up leaves. The options were slim.
A.) He murders you here.
B.) He leaves you here.
C.) He already murdered someone here, and you were the cleanup crew.
D.) He wanted to make a leaf scrapbook.
Freeing his fingers from the snake-like grip, Sanzu sat down near one of many trees, still withholding context. As always, you followed. Sitting down criss-cross in the grass, you faced your roommate and withheld all terror.
“You’ll get it soon, so just wait until then,” was the closest thing to an answer he’d give.
“Anything for you, boss,” you complied with a lack of judgment.
Hanging around here until nightfall seemed like a downright awful idea, but that was looking like the plan of action.
How terrifying.
Without the guidance of eye offending, day even at night, Tokyo lights, this place would be as bright as a nightmare.
Maybe this was Sanzu’s sadistic side.
How dreamy of him.
Romantic even.
Looking past the stunt they pulled yesterday, you set your sights on the heavens and bombarded them with a mantra of: make it something not scary. But harassing gods who harassed you offered no results. They were stingy in that sense. Which was most unfortunate, since answering was their only means to stopping you.
And not just any answer.
It had to be something not scary.
If the reason you were here, even vaguely resembled scary, they’d gain a most irritating enemy.
A spam pray-er.
Awaiting a reply, you monitored their home.
Each tree mourned for parts of themself that lay dead in the grass, but it was an essential sacrifice. Otherwise, the sky wouldn’t be the sky.
It’d just be leaves.
Yet thanks to the season ridding the visual obstacle of life from this place, you had a half-decent view.
Twisted in nature, the moon approached to glorify the sorry state of a world below. While one forfeited its beauty, the moon bragged of its own permanence.
A satellite had no way of empathizing with a planet, nor did it want to.
Yet those of earth found brilliance in a rock, who disputed with darkness each night. They admired the proud being in its eternal pond, basked in white.
The moon felt loved in that way.
In all of its sameness.
Setting the backdrop for a gleeful moon, the cool ombre of dusk seeped down its canvas. Though it started with lavender, it always ended in blue.
But there was that which wasn't lavender or blue.
Subtle, yet to those accustomed to city nightlife, apparent.
Brushstrokes that painted the moon mistakenly spritzed the echoes of its ink.
Faint glimmers of dust polluted the sky.
Yeah, stars.
A handful, to be exact.
“Hey,” you said, though from your expression to your tone, both exhibited genuine concern. “What’s going on?” You asked, squishing your brows together.
“What part do you need me to explain?”
“Not one. It's just—geez. I was super nervous this entire time.” Despite overcoming 'this entire time', your laugh still came out as high-strung. “I was so nervous that I probably woulda cried if ya made any sudden movements.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, yet a thought bubble seemed to pop as the nature of the situation dawned on him. “I guess that makes more sense,” he noted. “I thought it was about the weather.”
“Nope.” You beamed in relief. “Purely fear.”
Sanzu settled on half a grin, as to avoid fanning the sadist flame too heavily. “At least you're true to your word.”
“Uh-huh, truer than true, so never make me go to the hospital.”
“Don't break any more bones and I won't have to.”
“Can do Mr. Sanzu.” You smiled. “Also, sorry if I cry,”
It was a preemptive apology.
Doing so softens the blow of future impact.
Sanzu’s elbow settled upon his knee as his palm cushioned the weight of his face. Undisturbed in the present, his eyes gauged the future, along with every pattern of the past.
“I'd prefer it if you didn't,” he said in an impartial tone.
“But my appreciation comes out through my eyes.”
“If you don't want to go to the hospital, then you should stop bringing up conditions that say you should.”
“I won't cry! I guess I'll say thanks through a confession of love instead.”
“Is not doing either of those out of the question?”
“Hmm…” You put miles of consideration into an answer. “Yep, way out of the question. The most I can do is hold 'em back for a bit.”
While you were at the mercy of expressing gratitude, the grandmaster of threats found a way to make you hold it back indefinitely without lifting a finger.
—words were a powerful combatant.
And Sanzu excelled at making them into live bombs.
Sadly, your emotions were the worst kind of final boss. They might take some time off, but they'd be back, buff and crazed on steroids. Be that minutes or days, who knows? The moral of the story was that even if the original villain to a franchise was the most successful, at some point they needed to stop coming back and hand off the baton. Though, if the baton merged with the villain, then that settles the nature of such affairs.
This was that kind of dilemma.
A solo villain production.
Nice and simple.
To be continued… (eternally.)
Playing the waiting game came with nothing but rewards. Those dinky flickers at the start were nothing. The beginning was but a transitional tease of this sky's hidden potential. As the sun strayed to foreign lands, the glimmering of space mixed in with night.
Fear of the dark was in human nature, just as the fear of cities was in a star's nature.
They couldn't coexist for reasons unknown.
“I'm confused,” you said. “We can see them here, but not at home?”
“Yeah. Apparently, this still isn't all that great,” Sanzu replied, downplaying the sight.
“How?”
“I'm not sure, but you can see more depending on where you are.”
“What creeps,” you sniffled. “They should give everybody the same show.”
Sanzu gazed at the figure who was currently laid out on the ground. The one who was unable to cast away the original villain at heart. The one who couldn't handle the task of not crying. Even so, you thought obscuring your face with a barricade of arms would do the trick. Laying back was an additional wall of out of view security.
In practice, it was perfect.
“I'm not grateful,” you said, deploying the irrefutable excuse, “I'm just super mad.”
“Okay,” he answered the lie with downright, one worded compliance.
Even if Sanzu was the grandmaster of threats, he was hardly interested in upholding them all the time, or anytime. Arming him with a bad mood and words was a threat all on its own, so that counted for all the upholding he doesn't uphold.
Rubbing your eyes free of any illegal emotions, you disposed of the person you were a few seconds ago.
“I'm lying,” you said, shooting up to reclaim your existence as someone who sits. “I wasn't really mad. I was way, way happy.”
“Yeah. No shit,” Sanzu said, as mirroring scars reached with the curve of his smile.
“I guess I still got a long way to go before I'm skilled at secretly crying.”
“Some goals aren't realistic for one lifetime.”
“Oh no,” you exclaimed to an exaggerated degree. “How scary. I'm falling for ya more Mr. Sanzu.”
“Terrifying,” Sanzu said, not so terrified.
His reactive levels were hit-or-miss today.
But that was fine.
You were already dangerously happy.
“Hey, hey, Mr. Sanzu. How'd ya know about this place?”
“I was here with Muto a few weeks ago.”
“Here?”
“Near here.”
“To see stars?”
“No, for something else.”
“Oh… ya really like him, don’t ya?”
“Yeah,” Sanzu's words were warm, “I do.”
Sanzu liked Muto… you liked Baji. That's how things were. How they would always be. How they were supposed to be.
Your line of sight strayed back to the tourist attraction of twinkling heights.
Outside of a city where stars couldn't reach, stars were a companion of night.
They could reach.
New sights could bring about any number of reactions. One of the many was silence. Your words died out. After all, this wasn't artificial light.
That's why you grew silent.
That's why.
Yet, reading without words wasn't an exclusive art. Nor was it some hidden talent. It was simply knowing. Knowing, without understanding.
You still didn't quite understand, but.
It was an awareness.
A god awful awareness.
“What’s wrong?”
The graveyard of leaves crunched beneath your figure as they monitored your every movement. Crossing your arms, tilting to the left, then to the right, you pondered a catalog of excuses.
“I can't stop thinking.” You paused and squinted, deciding to turn down routine evasion. “I’m a bad person.”
Lacking any sway in tone, Sanzu simply asked the question.
“Why’s that?”
“'Cos,” you said. “It’s the way I am. All I really do is rely on everyone else,” you couldn't get all the words out.
Some random guy said he'd get Baji back.
Some random guy.
He said so but…
Shit, what if-
While deconstructing on the spot would’ve been easy, other factors made it hard. Namely, Sanzu. The slightest touch was grounding as the hands you loved most cupped your face. If you had to interpret the meaning behind each callous, they'd say: we exist to be remembered. So even if you were up above the clouds, you’d know to come back to a feeling you knew. Driving your attention back to the center of the world, he leaned in closer.
“Then rely on me.” Sanzu held your gaze and asserted, “just me.”
You stalled out and blinked, only for a grin to sprout on your face. “Yeah.”
Everything would go back to normal.
Everything would stay the same.
Nothing would ever change.
Never.
Drifting further into hands littered by scrapes and scuffs, they embodied the essence of something like love. From his fingers to his palms, they brushed against your skin and felt like love. Prominent scars embraced his lips and feathered lashes cradled his gaze, Sanzu was a delicate deity fixed on only you, and it felt like love. Existing as yourself, you didn't have to be anyone else, and it felt like love. Sanzu was a safety net who'd never fray, and that felt like love. Fueled by the desire to pour over with limitless devotion, it was love.
It was only love.
The desire to drown in love.
To suffocate on love.
To earn love.
Eventually, you'd figure it out.
Disturbing the stillness, you spilled over affectionately. With the aid of knees and toes, you leaned forward, as greedy arms wrapped around his neck, welcoming arms wrapped around you. Resting your face over his shoulder, strands of blonde greeted your skin, as if to say ‘welcome back’. If you belonged anywhere, it was right here.
You wanted it to be closer.
So much closer.
It was bubbling over;
A love that could drown the sun.
It was bubbling over and it felt close. It was so close to love. It was so close and he didn't deny your aim for more. No, he shouldered everything you were, because love felt so close. His fingers whispered over your spine, settling into the space between your shoulder blades. You were suffocating on affection, and love felt so close. His touch was reminiscent of home because home could travel, and it felt so close to love.
It was so close.
But you still couldn't reach.
Even so, you harbored enough love for the both of you.
That would never change.
It made its way under your skin; that 'almost', had settled right in. And as he held you closer, you felt loved, no matter what it really was. Because after all, you wanted it more than anyone.
—love.
Or anything that vaguely resembled it.
And well, you felt it in every flimsy bone.
—loved.
Well versed in the definition of his shoulders down to the outline of his spine, you read the parts of him that had no voice and memorized them beyond any brushstroke or word.
They spelled out the structure of the world.
The structure of the universe
One you could touch.
For not all humans met so many Gods.
Not all humans got their attention.
Not all humans felt the need to.
Not all humans.
Maybe it was just you.
If so, you were truly lucky.
And for these emotions to belong only to you.
You were truly lucky.
Relinquishing the best, you leaned back to give him room. Except, not quite. Tilting your face down was an action led by the help of your roommate. Following his every beat, anything he offered felt like love. The empty parts felt full. As Sanzu sheltered your cheeks, his hands acted as a placeholder, but that's where they belonged.
And everything was okay.
Because there was only love.
Fluid movements mimicked air as he drew closer, while gentle lashes carried the gaze of the world. He was all of everything, all of it pressed down into one, with pale blue fixed on you. Just you. Which emotion did they carry?
Affection.
It was affection.
Close moved closer.
With a rising pulse, your heart dropped all prior ambitions and turned dead set on bypassing the restrictions of your chest. It played to a rapid tune, one that conveyed life and love and everything else.
Planted to the space between Sanzu's legs, your fingers wrung out the fabric of his jacket.
Until you remembered how to breathe.
This oxygen was the only source.
Clear and pure.
Tender as the autumn sun, Sanzu pressed his lips to your forehead. Distributing warmth, it felt like love. Only love. The desire to drown bloomed amongst the decay of life, so as he parted from your skin, you wanted anything else. Yet for reasons unknown, emotions always worked against you at times like these. A tenseness constricted your body, and contrary to the weightlessness of his movements, yours barely functioned as stiff.
Peering into eyes struck by the moon, they swallowed you up in the same manner they always did. “You're freezing up again,” he murmured. “It's no different than any other time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said, cracking a smile. “Right as always.”
It was never any different.
Because nothing ever changed.
It was only ever the same.
Tender fingers grazed over the nape of your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours. Fresh air untouched by the exhausts of humanity acted as a base for the near nonexistent fragrance of discount shampoo. Threads of blonde spilled over his shoulders as the accustomed scent turned potent.
It was a capability that only Sanzu possessed.
Your gaze lingered over features he kept out of sight. Flawlessly cracked and marked for eternity, the past took to the image of raised flesh, and while you didn't quite get it, no matter how much our bodies loved us, they couldn't mask tragedy of that degree.
So, you had to surpass that love.
You cherished every inch that the body could heal, and that which it couldn't. You adored the version of him that he was, and the permanence of each part that'd never go back.
Even if you had to love those parts at a distance.
There was a certain stillness in quiet motions, as you ignored the persistence of shaky hands and instead closed your eyes to digest the only feeling that mattered. Searing every touch, every scent, every hushed moment deep within your memory, fluttering spilled from your stomach and melted through the earth's core. By now, your heart had surely blown straight through the confines of your chest.
Heightened states of emotion did that to a person.
—panic that was pleasant.
The chill of his nose nudged against yours, yet his palms spoke of warmth. Sanzu conveyed the season through the surface of his skin. One that’d yet to be named.
The season's name was change.
Gentle as the first breath of life, soft lips brushed over yours, as if to say they didn't solely exist to be on the receiving end of someone's fist. No, they didn't only exist to be split apart, because this felt mended together. Even if your skin was buzzing and you didn't have all the answers, you answered uncertainty with a definitive reply.
You were a creature of habit, but some habits needed to die.
Evasion had no home here.
Love could no longer rent out that space.
Even if it was for an old friend.
Even if, for once, evasion played no part.
Abrupt as the departing breath of death, former gestures ceased to flow. The exaggerated nature of a moment pretended to be larger than it really was. In staying true to the divine nature of a God, the contact of his touch sustained the weight of a feather. In that sense, he was barely there from the start. A kiss that just barely existed. It was as if your skin turned into poison for him, or maybe it was that way from the start. Lips of who you knew best were at most an acquaintance and it seemed they would stay that way.
Because fleeting as October leaves, his presence was by no means permanent.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, but the soft breath of his words drifted away from your skin as he leaned back.
Pale eyes swept up the moon and redefined its glow. An apologetic deity whose apologies came in the form of 'never' was renowned for his weightless presence.
But today he stitched lead into his skin.
In the spectrum of mortals, it was around now where you'd typically plummet into panic.
But that wasn't it.
Not now, at least.
You were happy.
But emotions were never your strong suit. They knew how to bubble over, but they didn't know how to simmer. From your chest to your face, they were rupturing with affection, and you didn't know what to do with it.
You didn't know what to do with anything;
Never, not even once.
So, it spilled out from your core.
You offered an embarrassed smile.
An honest to god, embarrassed smile.
You felt loved.
Even if it wasn't love.
Sanzu's gaze remained soft but the remnants of guilt were heavy, yet as always, fleeting. Shifting to something like boredom, he peered into the depths of a flustered existence.
“Do you love me?” Sanzu asked in the same manner one asks for the time.
Slamming your hands down onto either thigh, you leaned forward with a fierce intensity. Through eye contact alone, it was as if you were looking through every living thing. As if staring straight through the world itself. His question required that level of presence.
Offering a few enthusiastic nods, you replied, “more than anyone!”
It was less of a reply and more of an outburst.
Sanzu didn't seem disappointed nor pleased with your response. It was neutral. Sanzu remained as he was, with the same blades of grass beneath his fingertips. It was as if you'd simply given him the time, because that's what he asked.
He was the breeze of the day, and you were a leaf. You'd whip through the air every second of every season if need be.
“In what way do you love me?” He pressed further, yet his words upheld identical indifference.
“The way that ends with us getting married.”
“Why?”
“'Cos you're you,” you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing, since it technically was.
“And if I looked like someone else?”
“I'd still love ya.”
“And if I acted like someone else?”
“I'd still, still, still love ya.”
“And if I was someone else?”
“My love is a staple characteristic, it wouldn't go anywhere.”
“If that's the case,” he said, “then it could've been anyone, yeah?”
“No.” You frowned, almost offended. “That's wrong.”
“But isn't that what you said?” Sanzu flew off in some god awful direction as he gave a voice to passive-aggressive tendencies. Sneering upon delivery, he almost looked amused, but that kind of smile was never reserved for anything good. “If I were someone else, you'd still love me. So, if that's true, then it has nothing to do with who. All that matters is what, where and when.”
“…”
“Well, was I right?”
A critical stare tore into you.
A blank stare stripped you of all liveliness.
“Ya really want me to say it?” you asked, but the words hardly came out.
As if he were telling you to stab yourself, impatience was an answer resting upon delicate features.
Your eyebrows furrowed with something like anguish as you opened your mouth to respond.
Right as always, didn't come out in its typical tune.
It could've been anyone, you affirmed
“You were just unlucky.”
The words were yours, but it didn't dull the blade.
It sharpened it.
“But,” you continued, “I'm happy you're you. Y'know? Like seriously, the happiest. So, don't hate me, okay?”
Saddled with the leftovers of lethality, Sanzu opened his mouth to speak.
But shut it down with a breath.
No matter how escalated he may or may not have appeared, that energy had a short lifespan. Retiring the role of instigator, his gaze descended to the tide of dead leaves.
“Yeah,” was his answer, but white words played in a puddle of mud. “I shouldn't have said any of that.” He yielded, “sorry.”
Your answer drew blood.
It didn't take an idiot to see that much.
But as much as you dreaded saying it, it was a trivial matter.
Something deep down, you already knew.
Even if Sanzu assumed as much, confirmation to it was a different monster.
Uncertainty solidified true.
Honesty that served no purpose.
You pushed it down.
Down.
Down. Down. Down.
The past was fixed in permanence.
And what ifs were better off buried.
"It's okay Mr. Sanzu." You smiled and laid down, resting your head on his lap. “I'll always forgive ya no matter what. So never hate me, 'kay?”
“I won't,” said the upside-down blonde, though his conviction was as sound as silence.
But that was just how he was.
It didn’t change the meaning.
Pale flesh was molded from grains of starlight and a fluid moon. In spite of their origin, slender fingers enveloped those of a black hole. Pressing the essence of a different life into your skin, Sanzu filtered out the bad parts. The sun was devoured by a corrupted god of yesterday, yet this reality only knew the color white.
“I love ya Mr. Sanzu, more than anyone.”
As if you'd ever let him forget, an amused breath escaped his lips. “I know.”
It was a law of the universe.
And he didn't reject it.
As you kept your gaze fixed on the world above, you noticed it.
The sky was but a cheap imitation of the real deal.
“Stop staring at me,” Sanzu said to the sedated admirer.
Sadly, the real deal wasn't open to the idea of being watched.
With the same shit-eating grin as always, you replied, “my bad.”
And while you weren't supposed to stare, it was hard to look away.
Fragrant as a camellia and unguarded as their growth.
an // I dreaded uploading this on here, Tumblr mobile + long docs is just..
This will only hurt as much as you let it.
I'm an eccentric monster.
I shouldn't sleep next to pens.
Aluminum is my favorite metal.
Lemon is my favorite scent.
There are doves in my window
and a God at my door.
There are gods in the future,
and a God right next door.
There’s a dog in my heart,
and I keep barking for more.
There were some people in this world who, under no circumstances, should be asked; ‘are you okay?’ Primarily, the individuals with absolutely no control over themselves. Ignoring them at all costs would be of sound judgment.
Really, no one would think any less of you.
It might even lead to a spike in approval ratings.
Namely, from the neighbors.
“And then,” you wept, “and then,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I called him a shit-head asshole,” you bawled, spilling over accordingly.
Forget about approval ratings, Chifuyu shot up to number one on your neighbor’s hit lists.
Even if all he did was knock on your door, that meager action was enough to spark a one sided blood feud from hell. He could’ve knocked on any door in the world, but he had to interact with the one marked: don’t engage.
Chifuyu broke an unspoken rule.
Now, a penalty of neighborly glares dwelled upon him.
Not that the opinion of those deadbeats mattered. Aside from not mattering, their wrath was as threatening as dust. Due to the routine endeavors of binge drinking, those deadbeats found themselves critically handicapped at the dawn of each new day.
And thus oozed with hatred for all things during daytime sobriety.
Just as they'd love them come nightfall.
You could cry.
Chifuyu could knock.
Inevitably, they'd forget.
Honing a falcon grip onto Chifuyu’s shoulders, your head drooped, as it could no longer withstand the weight of despair. Both parties stood just outside your door since it wouldn’t be much of an attraction if it wasn’t out in the open. Yes, the second story walkway acted as the perfect stage for broadcasting your distress to the mites below. Free admission came with an uneventful display, seeing as it took until now for you to perform a coherent sentence. Chifuyu, despite initiating the checkup, had been no more than an unspoken advisor to this teeming performance.
In your line of emotions, there was no shortage of tears.
You undoubtedly had the capability to drown the world if you wished to do so.
Fortunately, for humanity's sake, that wasn’t a priority.
“Hey, it's not that bad.” Chifuyu awkwardly attempted to soothe you with a few pats on the head. “You've said a lot worse, so.”
“So?” Your head shot up.
“So there's no need to worry about it.” He beamed in a manner that hinted his origin was actually that of the sun. “It's fine.”
You felt touched well beyond any good reason. Yes, you saw the light!—until a pesky pest felt the need to stop blending in.
It was as if he sensed your fleeting joy and wished to neutralize it.
Such was the nature of pests.
“Huh?” Sadness dissolved into vague hostility as you perceived the blonde intruder. “Where'd you come from?”
Of bleached hair and eyes that avoided contact, he was coming up hot on the scumbag radar. While worms were one matter, this breed was another. No, no, not a roach. At least cockroaches had that spunky ‘we’ll never die!’ energy to them, so in this case, they were the superior nuisance. This guy, on the other hand, had a squishable presence.
Truly, the worst category of pests.
A larva.
“Ah,” he 'ah'ed in a pesky fashion. “I've been here this whole time, but I guess I came from the stairs.” As if paying his respects to the superior pest, his gaze skittered around like a roach.
“Oh, I'm happy ya cleared that up.” Your expression softened. “So, you're just some creep whose creepy eyes can't decide on one creepy spot. Why creep up just one spot when ya can creep 'em all up, right?” The intensity of your presence hiked with every deliverance of 'creep', and it was only getting worse. “Yup. Creep to the creepo, I guess there's no shame in being a creep these days, huh?”
“Wait, it's not like that.” He waved his hands in front of his face spastically. “My name’s Hanagaki Takemichi and ah…”
He fell flat on his face in the verbal sense.
Lucky for him, he had the highest ranked support on standby.
“He's gonna get Baji back,” Chifuyu chimed in with an overwhelming recovery.
“Really?” Your warmth was damn near immediate. Raising either fist, you leaned forward in anticipation. “Ya really will?”
“Without a doubt!” he mindlessly fed into the tempo.
You were an easily swayed creature.
It was like an infinite game of heads or tails, and tails just exhibited a triple flip to land on heads.
“I'll seriously love ya forever, Tameniki,” you said, switching up faster than a thought.
“It's Takemichi,” he corrected.
“Sorry, Tareiki.”
“No… Takemichi.”
“Tafumichi.”
“...”
“Nakemachi.”
“You're doing that on purpose, right?”
“Doing what on purpose?” Tilting your head to one side, you pressed a puzzled hand to your cheek. “Damelichi?”
“It's getting further…” His adrenalin was quickly wearing into nonexistence with each new adaptation of his name.
“Taketakemimichi?”
“Almost, just without the middle.”
“Hafunarahengaichi?”
“That one wasn't even…” His spirit progressively shriveled.
“Ichi?”
“Good job.” Chifuyu patted you on the shoulder as an added bonus of reinforcement.
It was common knowledge that most people weren't born with bandages and splints. Yet, the blonde with an undercut sported both.
How peculiar.
How very, very strange.
What could it mean?
“Hmm.” Altering the direction of your focus, it finally registered the downright wretched state of your vice-captain. Wretched meaning beaten to a pulp and put back together with the peels. “Hey, didja get jumped Chifuyu?”
“Sort of,” he said in a wishy-washy manner. “But no worries, I took care of them.”
“How very Chifuyu of ya.”
“Right.” Accepting his name as a compliment, he continued on to separate matters. “Well, I mainly stopped by to make sure you weren't worrying too much. So, if you feel like worrying again, just remember that we'll have it handled before too long.”
“Okay,” you said, with nothing but compliance. “I wish I could help but I’m not good with stuff like this.” Scrunching your brows, you looked at the vice-captain. “Thanks for doing all the hard stuff, Chifuyu…” You looked at the other guy. “Takomichi.”
“C'mon, don't thank us yet,” Chifuyu complained through a chummy demeanor.
“Right.” You nodded with a smile. “Well, I'll love ya no matter what, Chifuyu.” Looking back to the other blonde, you flipped the figurative coin back to tails. “Don’t mess up or I’ll hate ya forever, ‘kay?”
“Yeah,” his response was nothing short of dead serious. “I promise I won’t.”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll shave your eyebrows off, ‘kay?”
“...huh?”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll rip out all your fingernails, ‘kay?”
“—!”
In seconds flat, the third rate blonde looked to be visibly sweating. The rippling presence of a predator just had that effect on some people, except—not really.
You, along with Chifuyu, only lasted a total of four seconds before bursting out in formerly restrained laughter.
When it came to first impressions, your track record spelled out 'don't engage', in thick red ink. In that first initial stage, some unknown force drove you to be the absolute worst. Like a fundamental instinct, similar to how cats feel drawn to screw with anything that can’t kill them, not out of necessity, but just because.
The same shouldn't apply to basic human interactions, yet here we are.
It was such a foreseeable occurrence that even Chifuyu anticipated it.
“My bad. Ya seemed super tense, so,” you said, offering something that made no attempt to resemble an apology.
If it resembled anything, it was a justification.
“Was that supposed to make it better?” the person of many names breathed out.
“Not really,” you admitted.
“Sorry Takemitchy.” Chifuyu's laughter died out as he handed out an authentic apology, as well as a chummy pat on the back. “Well, at least you seem serious about this.”
Wrapping up with a few parting ‘goodbyes’, the rescue squad departed, and you stepped back inside. You had a dirty schedule today, aka helping an adult with adult matters.
Yes, scum incarnate.
In an odd hurry, you tended to the excess remains of food prep by escorting them to the trash. Yet, catching an unwanted glimpse of the cans' innards, a society of business cards waved hello.
—you did a bad job yesterday.
-
One might think this scene was directed straight from a dump, a scrap heap even, but no. From the comfort of a dingy lot within a dingy complex, the ultimate scumbag reigned supreme. Battered in oil and whatever else, Mr. Scumbag wore his gross crown beneath a scrap of something that played make-believe vehicle. Meanwhile, you (unfortunately) crouched beside his greasy legs and waited for his (lack of) direction.
“You alright kid? You haven’t threatened me today,” he asked, obviously high off of motor oil.
“Oh. Right.” You took an exasperated breath. “I’ll key your car, something, something, hot-wire, blackmail.”
It was hardly an attempt.
You couldn’t be bothered with details.
Escaping from the underside of the car, Mr. Scumbag sat up, wiped some excess car residue on his pants for good luck, and then proceeded to focus all his filthy attention on you.
“C’mon kid, out with it. What’s wrong?”
Without an ounce of restraint you replied, “I was lost and got into the car with a bad person.”
Who would’ve guessed scumbags could look uglier than their default model? Beneath a lifetime of filth, the muscles in Mr. Scumbag’s face tightened up, as if to make up for all the years he'd let himself go.
Honestly, you weren’t sure what he was trying to do, but he should probably stop.
It looked painful.
“Did they do anything to you?” Mr. Scumbag pressed, exhibiting an intensity that threatened to singe every last filthy fuse of his ancient hardware.
You shook your head, allowing Mr. Scumbag to take a much needed sigh. It was like someone held down the button to his power supply, because the short-term defect got fixed back to default.
Not that it was much better (it was).
No matter the model, a scumbag’s still a scumbag, you just happened to have a preference.
Resigning all intensity, Mr. Scumbag continued, “why didn't you call me instead?”
“'Cos,” you said blankly, “ya don't have your phone number on a card.”
“A business card?”
You shrugged, raising your hands.
Standing up, stained hands searched through stained pockets. After a bout of ruining already ruined clothes, he pulled out a card.
A folded and crumpled ‘business’ card smeared with oil.
Was he a hypocrite or what? The first rule was to wear gloves.
Reaching out, you accepted the oily token of business. As always, you could read the numbers, but kanji was still a work in progress. The fresh stain was likely his translation of ‘dirty deadbeat with a business for hire’.
“I'm being serious now,” Mr. Scumbag said, marking now as a serious milestone. “Where are your parents?”
“On vacation.”
You needed a tape recorder for moments like these.
Specifically, for Mr. Scumbag, since his memory couldn’t retain the answer.
He shook his head, falling into a deep silence.
Scumbags shouldn’t be left to think on their own. God only knows what they’ll come up with.
“I know it won't do much good at this point, but.” He scratched his head. “I can take care of you until they get back. The other one too. It’d be better than having something like that happen again.”
“Wow, ya finally went off the deep end, huh?” You asked, displaying the same authentic nature as a person who donates money to charity.
“Can’t say I wasn’t expecting something like that,” he admitted. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here. Just make sure to call me if you need help, alright?”
“Got it,” you replied, though your spirit was still lacking. “I just remembered, I need help. So hand over all the dirty business money you've been hoarding.”
At this point, you just sounded bored.
A joyless endeavor of lame proportions.
“Listen, I'm not hoarding money, so drop it already.”
“But you're working all the time. So, if you're not hoarding it, then ya must be spending it on sinful adult stuff.”
Mr. Scumbag opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out other than his faith for humanity.
“Whatever,” you said, up and ready to drop the eternal war, “I fold.”
Fed up with crouching, you plopped down onto ever uneven asphalt and hit the GAME OVER screen.
The world was a child and you were a roll of bubble tape.
There was no potential of forming a truce between those two.
“Will you stop lookin’ so sorry if I explain it?”
Even if he was a spectator, Mr. Scumbag didn't want the game to end yet. He was shoving pocket lint into the coin slot as a last-ditch attempt. That was the kind of person he was, one who stuffed arcade games full of trash.
That was what people did when they got to his age.
They came up with solutions that made no sense.
You really couldn’t get mad at him for trying.
“Dunno yet. Maybe? I can predict so little that ya might activate my thirst for world domination instead, but who knows?” You shrugged ambiguously. “It might be world peace.”
“Not the answer I was looking for, kid.”
“Well, if ya want someone to lie about the future, then go watch the news. I gotta preserve honesty, or whatever.”
“Can't say I believe that last part.”
“C'mon, stop holdin' out and cough it up already Mr. Scumbag.”
“Alright, alright.” He crossed his arms and released a disclaimer, “just know that it's not as interesting as it is in your head.”
Mr. Scumbag, a modest man.
—said no one ever.
“How sad,” you let out, guided by the hand of fraudulent exasperation, “I'm already way disappointed.”
In a dingy complex, in a dingy lot, a greased up middle aged man and a teenager occupied asphalt. Facing one another with legs crossed, both parties tuned out the passing gazes of those who weren’t invited to story-time-for-two. The environment was as immersive as it was inconvenient for others. It wasn’t actually inconvenient, but people, y’know? Either way those mites didn’t matter.
Oil was in the air and story-time commenced.
“Okay kid, lemme start by saying, all this we do on the weekends, I don't see a penny of it. The shop's a bit of a different story, but this profit here.” He banged on the death-scrap vehicle. “Isn't going into my pocket.”
“Did it grow legs? 'Cos I'm not buying it Mr. Scumbag.”
“No, it didn't grow legs, just hang on for a second.” He took a breath, well aware of the concentration needed to pull this off. “So, you know about my sister, right?”
“Uh-huh. Ya ditch me some weekends to go watch her house and kid. She must be a real good person if she lets ya inside.”
“Nice way of putting it, but yeah. When she picks up overtime, I go and watch her kid. Pretty simple,” he explained. “Now, a while back, some scumbag went and robbed her place. It's not like she's rich or anything, but still, that piece of shit found the money she'd been saving. To make matters worse, it was supposed to be for the kids' college fees. The whole thing tore her up pretty bad, it was a damn shame.”
His words came out as free and easy, yet emotion snuck out through a fine series of cracks. Leaking out through the ever merciless color, black; it looked like regret. While it shouldn't have bothered you, it did. Because even if adults were the worst, sometimes they were good people.
Mr. Scumbag was a lot of things, but he wasn't a bad person.
He was a good person.
A really, really, really good person.
Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people.
And bad people shouldn’t exist.
“Geez, that's seriously messed up,” you said in disgust. “I mean, for you to say they're a scumbag, they gotta be the scummiest.”
“Yeah, well, they still never caught the piece of shit. But either way, that's why we're here now.” He breathed out a conclusive breath. “I didn't want kids of my own, so I figured the best I could do was help hers have a good life. That’s how I got into doing these extra jobs on the weekend. I wanted to help my sis make up her losses, y’know?”
“Oh. Weird. I guess I never would've blinked your way if ya weren't a weekend mechanic, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He released a hearty laugh from his gut. “See what happens when you try an’ do something good?”
Yeah, you pick up a kid who’s keen on hot-wiring and blackmail.
It was as the saying goes; if you don’t want fleas, don’t go outside.
He knew the risk.
“Not really, but hey.” The corners of your eyes creased as you flashed Mr. Scumbag your cheesiest grin. “If ya ever find out who did it, I'll beat 'em up for ya. On the house.”
“Appreciate the offer, but I'd rather do it myself.”
—huh?
Was that your heart just now? If so, then why did it sound like it shattered? On second glance, what were those fragments sticking out of Mr. Scumbag’s hands? If you were in your right mind, you’d say it was your heart, but was it? Was that your heart? Was this his attempt at murder? Did he just try to kill you?
No, don’t be silly.
That was just how feelings worked.
“I dunno why, but that denial kinda hurt Mr. Scumbag.”
“Sorry kid,” he said, brushing off the anomaly with ease. “Well, I hope putting my family's dirty laundry out there got you back to the typical routine.”
By routine, he could've only meant spirited verbal assault.
Mechanic roughly translates to masochist.
“Yeah, I dunno why ya thought that'd cheer me up, but at least I see ya in a new light, and that's-”
“Y'know, I'm gonna stop you while you're ahead.” He pressed his hands against the asphalt in an attempt to stand. “So, let's pick this up another time.”
“Wow.” You beamed fluffily. “You’re way better at predicting the future than all those phonies on TV.”
Making a handful of pained, yet overdramatic groans as he got to his feet, Mr. Scumbag took note, “I can't help but think that's the first time you directed something at me that wasn't an insult.”
“Ya thought super well, but seriously.” Dialing back the banter for just a moment, you continued earnestly, “thanks Mr. Scumbag, and sorry about your sis. I bet she's a good person too.”
Though your words were sincere, you tensed up as the recoil damage of embarrassment threatened to move in.
You weren't ready to lie down and die in front of an adult just yet.
Preemptively shutting down his chance to reply, your reflexes protected you from any real or imagined emotions that threatened to follow. “Don't respond,” you chittered in a torrential downpour of half-assed defenses. Armed with the intent of extracting yourself from the scene, you sprung to your feet. “Ever,” you specified, moving forward with a strategic retreat.
Scampering off in a mad dash, you traversed the crumbling prison of asphalt to escape the scummiest adults' home field advantage. Ascending stairs that followed their own wobbly protocol, the repetition of each step clanked against metal; a song of rust declared the sensitive crisis as averted.
It was a close call.
The reservoir of embarrassment nearly got tapped for some masochist mechanic.
It wasn't actually a big deal, but talking was just like that sometimes. You say things. Countless things. Expected things. Wholehearted things. While you say all these things, you don't always know how the other person might respond.
And that was scary.
Unanticipated rejection was scary.
The vulnerability of speaking one's truth was an unnerving force.
Yet you were glad you spoke yours.
Even if it wasn't much.
It was something.
-
Staring at the playing cards that spelled 'lose already', your mind drifted elsewhere. The day wasn't dead yet, and Sanzu came back earlier than anticipated, meaning yet another close call with watching the banned genre. There was something about the fear of getting caught that upped the overall quality of it.
Funny how those things worked.
Sanzu was paying as much attention to the game as you were, yet it came with the title of the best to win even while absorbed in television. The month of October was horror's best buddy, and in this moment, that was Sanzu's best buddy. Piercing screams came out as crackled, not that they were broadcast that way, but due to creative differences, the old-as-time television conveyed it as such.
Media was one of a kind here, limited edition even.
Watching the TV's portrayal of the program, Sanzu placed down another card, successfully cutting your likelihood of survival into whatever it was from the start, because at no point was the survival rating anything besides death: wait times may vary. Sealing the loser's fate, you placed another card and died accordingly.
Your cheek slumped into the support of a loser's hand as you dwelled on a scary thought that wasn't horror. “Are dates only for people with money?”
Sanzu shook his head. “I doubt it. Money just makes it convenient.”
“So that means we've gone on lots of dates, right Mr. Sanzu?”
Through an always breezy gaze, Sanzu catered to cards of bent edges and scuffs, working them back into the deck. Placid in presence, your words weren't cause for a ripple or wave, but there was happiness in that which didn't change.
And Sanzu would always be the same.
Even if he wasn't.
Pushing the remaining cards back into the deck, Sanzu offered a careless reply.
An utterly careless reply.
“I guess.”
Expecting a dictionary of passive aggressive retorts as well as every term that opposed confirmation, the forecast for the day was flawed beyond recovery.
Off guard and fizzing, playful tactics worked against you as you toppled into a blend of distress.
The loser's fate carried out its duty.
“Hey,” you whined. “I’ll die if ya surprise me too much.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, not alluding to a microfiber of concern. “That's fine. What I meant to say was no, if I had to choose between going on a date with you or murdering everyone in this complex, I’d choose murder every time.”
Honing an unphased presence meant nothing.
Sanzu's eye to eyebrow ratio spoke in microfiber.
Yet the malicious intent of his words transcended into a separate life-form.
A cosmic shadow swirled black.
“—kidding ♡,” you chimed. “And besides, do ya really think one complex is enough? I mean, eventually there wouldn’t be any left. So, you’d only be stalling.”
“I think the guilt would get to you before that point.” Pushing loose strands back behind his ear, Sanzu effortlessly dominated today's blonde lineup. “Well, Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Ever heard of it, or should I explain?”
“Watch what ya say Mr. Sanzu, ‘cos if I fall for ya any more, it might get scary.”
“And what part should I be watching?” Placing the deck of cards to the side, Sanzu humored you with judgment. “Honestly, if that's how you feel, then maybe I should take you to the hospital instead.”
Delivering a scraping shriek against the floorboards, your chair propelled back, and you sprung to your feet as if reenacting the wake-up sequence of televised boot camps.
It’s all fun and games until the hospital gets brought up.
Then it’s fear fueled submission.
“I’ll follow ya to the depths of hell, really anywhere. Just don’t make me go to the hospital.”
“I’m happy to hear you think hospitals are more threatening than hell.”
“Yup, it’s no good to be picky, so I only picked one.”
“And which one was that? Negligence?”
“Huh?” You tilted your head to a puzzled degree. “What made ya say that?”
“Because hospitals shouldn’t be your only concern,” Sanzu said. “But since you don't have an issue with it, I won't get in your way.”
“No worries Boss, I have loads of shady concerns, like Mr. Scumbag's apartment and the news HQ.” Your eyebrows knit apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t want ya to think I was picky.”
“It’s not like it'd matter either way.”
Did he say he was in love with you? Because that was how it sounded.
All jokes aside, 'let’s go', was underway.
A masterfully stuffed dresser fell to the mercy of Sanzu, who tried pulling out a singular article of clothing but ended up with a handful. The long-term effects of over-packing triggered the abused storage unit's wrath.
A dresser's wrath wasn't all that intimidating.
It was slightly irritating at most.
What was more irritating was the furniture industry. Yeah, the furniture industry. Those schmucks. Where did they get off thinking they could charge so much for a box? It was a slippery slope; once humans realized they could store clothing somewhere other than the ground, the furniture industry had already won. And now, in present day Japan, those schmucks want six months of rent for a box.
Let that sink in.
A box.
That’s the power we gave them.
And now, formerly handed down thanks to the expiration of an elderly neighbor; the joint dresser had a workload of two. So, in regards to the clean clothes now on the floor, the fault fell on none other than those box hoarding schmucks. Maybe, if they weren’t an organization based off greed, that poor dresser wouldn’t need to spit up a spectacle of fabric every time an item was required.
Hardly sparing a glance at the scene of the crime, Sanzu scooped up the evidence and discarded it. Boxes, aside from their insides, have formidable outsides, primarily the backup storage of a flat surface. Unconcerned with the evidence's wellbeing, he tossed the evicted clothes onto the spot known as storage v2.
Tossed and then sorted.
Wrinkles were an ally of scumbags, after all.
Besides the roaches deployed by none the ruler of filth himself, this was an anti-scum household.
Targeted by a fabric missile, you caught the pullover delivered via air mail. While you appreciated the present, it wasn’t necessary considering it was still warm outside. Maybe this was Sanzu’s way of saying ‘burn to death’.
Putting on a display of question mark-esque confusion, Sanzu came prepared with period-esque answers.
“We’ll be gone for a while.”
“Mmm…’kay!”
Compliance turned into second nature once the whisper of a hospital entered the equation.
The series of events that came next included bus stop to train stop forms of travel. Though remaining in the dark in terms of the destination, you could grasp minimal details.
Far.
It was far.
Had you ever traveled this far?
No, probably not.
But also—maybe?
Who knows, you were a bad judge.
Engulfing the sky in a sea of flames, sunlight glared through each window to cast shadows by your feet. The train huffed along, lacking interest in the scenery it passed along the way.
Though you did the same.
Occupied with interpreting the row of ads overhead, one depicted a popular makeup brand often featured on TV.
Defined by flawless powders and contours, the models they used were always pretty.
You wanted to look like them one day.
Adults had it all, didn't they?
Seated side by side, the duo played tug of war in the verbal sense as a woman's voice broadcasted any multitude of stops before Sanzu decided on one.
You didn’t know where you were, and you didn’t care to ask.
It was foreign and far.
A part of you wasn’t sure Sanzu even knew where you were, considering the extent of wandering that’d taken place. Honestly, where the hell were you? This prefecture had so much space in between houses and structures, they must’ve all been sitting on some hefty coins by Tokyo standards.
Not to mention the tree to tree horizon.
A truly intimidating sight.
Man-made buildings were a known evil.
Trees were a natural one.
From the perspective of someone who was directionally incompetent, it was a safe practice to never question those who were competent. Although, amidst this adventure, you’d seen a repetition of the same cat statue outside strikingly similar storefronts. Or the same one. Who could say? Obviously not you.
“I wonder, are we lost?” You asked, attached to Sanzu’s arm.
Don't get the facts screwed up. It wasn't out of fear of him leaving you here. That wasn't what any of this was about. Either way, you clung to him like a koala to a branch.
“No. I’m not you,” Sanzu shot back, unable to reclaim his arm.
“Right as always, Mr. Sanzu. I guess everyone around here must have the same taste in statutes, huh?”
Sanzu ceased all movement.
Looked to his left.
Looked to his right.
Recalibrated, then rerouted.
On the new and improved path of travel, the sights were essentially the same until a set of steps missing a step came into view—barely, thanks to the shedding aid of overgrown foliage. From the observatory glance of a professional, it led up into the woods.
It wasn’t looking good for you.
The only thing forests were good for was murder.
And nature walks, but meh?
Murder was a more interesting assumption.
Well, it was as per the October spirit.
At least it wasn’t a hospital.
Climbing the questionable steps with fingers entwined in an ultimate knot, the bright side of this ordeal was you wouldn’t get left behind. Sure, Sanzu made a few passive attempts at pulling away, but if you were good at anything, it was clinging. His hand was at the mercy of a borderline threatening grip. Anything less than construction equipment or consent wouldn’t pry you off.
Branching off this way and that, there were as many paths as a maze enthusiast could dream of. Though, of a maze of enthusiasts' nightmares, there were also occasional signs aiding with direction. Dead leaves crunched under your feet as you matched Sanzu's every step. Through a varying density of trees and plant life in their decaying stage, the duo strayed from the path into off the grid territory.
“Okay,” Sanzu said out of the blue.
He stopped, somewhere that looked identical to all the rest. A spot with barren trees and dried up leaves. The options were slim.
A.) He murders you here.
B.) He leaves you here.
C.) He already murdered someone here, and you were the cleanup crew.
D.) He wanted to make a leaf scrapbook.
Freeing his fingers from the snake-like grip, Sanzu sat down near one of many trees, still withholding context. As always, you followed. Sitting down criss-cross in the grass, you faced your roommate and withheld all terror.
“You’ll get it soon, so just wait until then,” was the closest thing to an answer he’d give.
“Anything for you, boss,” you complied with a lack of judgment.
Hanging around here until nightfall seemed like a downright awful idea, but that was looking like the plan of action.
How terrifying.
Without the guidance of eye offending, day even at night, Tokyo lights, this place would be as bright as a nightmare.
Maybe this was Sanzu’s sadistic side.
How dreamy of him.
Romantic even.
Looking past the stunt they pulled yesterday, you set your sights on the heavens and bombarded them with a mantra of: make it something not scary. But harassing gods who harassed you offered no results. They were stingy in that sense. Which was most unfortunate, since answering was their only means to stopping you.
And not just any answer.
It had to be something not scary.
If the reason you were here, even vaguely resembled scary, they’d gain a most irritating enemy.
A spam pray-er.
Awaiting a reply, you monitored their home.
Each tree mourned for parts of themself that lay dead in the grass, but it was an essential sacrifice. Otherwise, the sky wouldn’t be the sky.
It’d just be leaves.
Yet thanks to the season ridding the visual obstacle of life from this place, you had a half-decent view.
Twisted in nature, the moon approached to glorify the sorry state of a world below. While one forfeited its beauty, the moon bragged of its own permanence.
A satellite had no way of empathizing with a planet, nor did it want to.
Yet those of earth found brilliance in a rock, who disputed with darkness each night. They admired the proud being in its eternal pond, basked in white.
The moon felt loved in that way.
In all of its sameness.
Setting the backdrop for a gleeful moon, the cool ombre of dusk seeped down its canvas. Though it started with lavender, it always ended in blue.
But there was that which wasn't lavender or blue.
Subtle, yet to those accustomed to city nightlife, apparent.
Brushstrokes that painted the moon mistakenly spritzed the echoes of its ink.
Faint glimmers of dust polluted the sky.
Yeah, stars.
A handful, to be exact.
“Hey,” you said, though from your expression to your tone, both exhibited genuine concern. “What’s going on?” You asked, squishing your brows together.
“What part do you need me to explain?”
“Not one. It's just—geez. I was super nervous this entire time.” Despite overcoming 'this entire time', your laugh still came out as high-strung. “I was so nervous that I probably woulda cried if ya made any sudden movements.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, yet a thought bubble seemed to pop as the nature of the situation dawned on him. “I guess that makes more sense,” he noted. “I thought it was about the weather.”
“Nope.” You beamed in relief. “Purely fear.”
Sanzu settled on half a grin, as to avoid fanning the sadist flame too heavily. “At least you're true to your word.”
“Uh-huh, truer than true, so never make me go to the hospital.”
“Don't break any more bones and I won't have to.”
“Can do Mr. Sanzu.” You smiled. “Also, sorry if I cry,”
It was a preemptive apology.
Doing so softens the blow of future impact.
Sanzu’s elbow settled upon his knee as his palm cushioned the weight of his face. Undisturbed in the present, his eyes gauged the future, along with every pattern of the past.
“I'd prefer it if you didn't,” he said in an impartial tone.
“But my appreciation comes out through my eyes.”
“If you don't want to go to the hospital, then you should stop bringing up conditions that say you should.”
“I won't cry! I guess I'll say thanks through a confession of love instead.”
“Is not doing either of those out of the question?”
“Hmm…” You put miles of consideration into an answer. “Yep, way out of the question. The most I can do is hold 'em back for a bit.”
While you were at the mercy of expressing gratitude, the grandmaster of threats found a way to make you hold it back indefinitely without lifting a finger.
—words were a powerful combatant.
And Sanzu excelled at making them into live bombs.
Sadly, your emotions were the worst kind of final boss. They might take some time off, but they'd be back, buff and crazed on steroids. Be that minutes or days, who knows? The moral of the story was that even if the original villain to a franchise was the most successful, at some point they needed to stop coming back and hand off the baton. Though, if the baton merged with the villain, then that settles the nature of such affairs.
This was that kind of dilemma.
A solo villain production.
Nice and simple.
To be continued… (eternally.)
Playing the waiting game came with nothing but rewards. Those dinky flickers at the start were nothing. The beginning was but a transitional tease of this sky's hidden potential. As the sun strayed to foreign lands, the glimmering of space mixed in with night.
Fear of the dark was in human nature, just as the fear of cities was in a star's nature.
They couldn't coexist for reasons unknown.
“I'm confused,” you said. “We can see them here, but not at home?”
“Yeah. Apparently, this still isn't all that great,” Sanzu replied, downplaying the sight.
“How?”
“I'm not sure, but you can see more depending on where you are.”
“What creeps,” you sniffled. “They should give everybody the same show.”
Sanzu gazed at the figure who was currently laid out on the ground. The one who was unable to cast away the original villain at heart. The one who couldn't handle the task of not crying. Even so, you thought obscuring your face with a barricade of arms would do the trick. Laying back was an additional wall of out of view security.
In practice, it was perfect.
“I'm not grateful,” you said, deploying the irrefutable excuse, “I'm just super mad.”
“Okay,” he answered the lie with downright, one worded compliance.
Even if Sanzu was the grandmaster of threats, he was hardly interested in upholding them all the time, or anytime. Arming him with a bad mood and words was a threat all on its own, so that counted for all the upholding he doesn't uphold.
Rubbing your eyes free of any illegal emotions, you disposed of the person you were a few seconds ago.
“I'm lying,” you said, shooting up to reclaim your existence as someone who sits. “I wasn't really mad. I was way, way happy.”
“Yeah. No shit,” Sanzu said, as mirroring scars reached with the curve of his smile.
“I guess I still got a long way to go before I'm skilled at secretly crying.”
“Some goals aren't realistic for one lifetime.”
“Oh no,” you exclaimed to an exaggerated degree. “How scary. I'm falling for ya more Mr. Sanzu.”
“Terrifying,” Sanzu said, not so terrified.
His reactive levels were hit-or-miss today.
But that was fine.
You were already dangerously happy.
“Hey, hey, Mr. Sanzu. How'd ya know about this place?”
“I was here with Muto a few weeks ago.”
“Here?”
“Near here.”
“To see stars?”
“No, for something else.”
“Oh… ya really like him, don’t ya?”
“Yeah,” Sanzu's words were warm, “I do.”
Sanzu liked Muto… you liked Baji. That's how things were. How they would always be. How they were supposed to be.
Your line of sight strayed back to the tourist attraction of twinkling heights.
Outside of a city where stars couldn't reach, stars were a companion of night.
They could reach.
New sights could bring about any number of reactions. One of the many was silence. Your words died out. After all, this wasn't artificial light.
That's why you grew silent.
That's why.
Yet, reading without words wasn't an exclusive art. Nor was it some hidden talent. It was simply knowing. Knowing, without understanding.
You still didn't quite understand, but.
It was an awareness.
A god awful awareness.
“What’s wrong?”
The graveyard of leaves crunched beneath your figure as they monitored your every movement. Crossing your arms, tilting to the left, then to the right, you pondered a catalog of excuses.
“I can't stop thinking.” You paused and squinted, deciding to turn down routine evasion. “I’m a bad person.”
Lacking any sway in tone, Sanzu simply asked the question.
“Why’s that?”
“'Cos,” you said. “It’s the way I am. All I really do is rely on everyone else,” you couldn't get all the words out.
Some random guy said he'd get Baji back.
Some random guy.
He said so but…
Shit, what if-
While deconstructing on the spot would’ve been easy, other factors made it hard. Namely, Sanzu. The slightest touch was grounding as the hands you loved most cupped your face. If you had to interpret the meaning behind each callous, they'd say: we exist to be remembered. So even if you were up above the clouds, you’d know to come back to a feeling you knew. Driving your attention back to the center of the world, he leaned in closer.
“Then rely on me.” Sanzu held your gaze and asserted, “just me.”
You stalled out and blinked, only for a grin to sprout on your face. “Yeah.”
Everything would go back to normal.
Everything would stay the same.
Nothing would ever change.
Never.
Drifting further into hands littered by scrapes and scuffs, they embodied the essence of something like love. From his fingers to his palms, they brushed against your skin and felt like love. Prominent scars embraced his lips and feathered lashes cradled his gaze, Sanzu was a delicate deity fixed on only you, and it felt like love. Existing as yourself, you didn't have to be anyone else, and it felt like love. Sanzu was a safety net who'd never fray, and that felt like love. Fueled by the desire to pour over with limitless devotion, it was love.
It was only love.
The desire to drown in love.
To suffocate on love.
To earn love.
Eventually, you'd figure it out.
Disturbing the stillness, you spilled over affectionately. With the aid of knees and toes, you leaned forward, as greedy arms wrapped around his neck, welcoming arms wrapped around you. Resting your face over his shoulder, strands of blonde greeted your skin, as if to say ‘welcome back’. If you belonged anywhere, it was right here.
You wanted it to be closer.
So much closer.
It was bubbling over;
A love that could drown the sun.
It was bubbling over and it felt close. It was so close to love. It was so close and he didn't deny your aim for more. No, he shouldered everything you were, because love felt so close. His fingers whispered over your spine, settling into the space between your shoulder blades. You were suffocating on affection, and love felt so close. His touch was reminiscent of home because home could travel, and it felt so close to love.
It was so close.
But you still couldn't reach.
Even so, you harbored enough love for the both of you.
That would never change.
It made its way under your skin; that 'almost', had settled right in. And as he held you closer, you felt loved, no matter what it really was. Because after all, you wanted it more than anyone.
—love.
Or anything that vaguely resembled it.
And well, you felt it in every flimsy bone.
—loved.
Well versed in the definition of his shoulders down to the outline of his spine, you read the parts of him that had no voice and memorized them beyond any brushstroke or word.
They spelled out the structure of the world.
The structure of the universe
One you could touch.
For not all humans met so many Gods.
Not all humans got their attention.
Not all humans felt the need to.
Not all humans.
Maybe it was just you.
If so, you were truly lucky.
And for these emotions to belong only to you.
You were truly lucky.
Relinquishing the best, you leaned back to give him room. Except, not quite. Tilting your face down was an action led by the help of your roommate. Following his every beat, anything he offered felt like love. The empty parts felt full. As Sanzu sheltered your cheeks, his hands acted as a placeholder, but that's where they belonged.
And everything was okay.
Because there was only love.
Fluid movements mimicked air as he drew closer, while gentle lashes carried the gaze of the world. He was all of everything, all of it pressed down into one, with pale blue fixed on you. Just you. Which emotion did they carry?
Affection.
It was affection.
Close moved closer.
With a rising pulse, your heart dropped all prior ambitions and turned dead set on bypassing the restrictions of your chest. It played to a rapid tune, one that conveyed life and love and everything else.
Planted to the space between Sanzu's legs, your fingers wrung out the fabric of his jacket.
Until you remembered how to breathe.
This oxygen was the only source.
Clear and pure.
Tender as the autumn sun, Sanzu pressed his lips to your forehead. Distributing warmth, it felt like love. Only love. The desire to drown bloomed amongst the decay of life, so as he parted from your skin, you wanted anything else. Yet for reasons unknown, emotions always worked against you at times like these. A tenseness constricted your body, and contrary to the weightlessness of his movements, yours barely functioned as stiff.
Peering into eyes struck by the moon, they swallowed you up in the same manner they always did. “You're freezing up again,” he murmured. “It's no different than any other time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said, cracking a smile. “Right as always.”
It was never any different.
Because nothing ever changed.
It was only ever the same.
Tender fingers grazed over the nape of your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours. Fresh air untouched by the exhausts of humanity acted as a base for the near nonexistent fragrance of discount shampoo. Threads of blonde spilled over his shoulders as the accustomed scent turned potent.
It was a capability that only Sanzu possessed.
Your gaze lingered over features he kept out of sight. Flawlessly cracked and marked for eternity, the past took to the image of raised flesh, and while you didn't quite get it, no matter how much our bodies loved us, they couldn't mask tragedy of that degree.
So, you had to surpass that love.
You cherished every inch that the body could heal, and that which it couldn't. You adored the version of him that he was, and the permanence of each part that'd never go back.
Even if you had to love those parts at a distance.
There was a certain stillness in quiet motions, as you ignored the persistence of shaky hands and instead closed your eyes to digest the only feeling that mattered. Searing every touch, every scent, every hushed moment deep within your memory, fluttering spilled from your stomach and melted through the earth's core. By now, your heart had surely blown straight through the confines of your chest.
Heightened states of emotion did that to a person.
—panic that was pleasant.
The chill of his nose nudged against yours, yet his palms spoke of warmth. Sanzu conveyed the season through the surface of his skin. One that’d yet to be named.
The season's name was change.
Gentle as the first breath of life, soft lips brushed over yours, as if to say they didn't solely exist to be on the receiving end of someone's fist. No, they didn't only exist to be split apart, because this felt mended together. Even if your skin was buzzing and you didn't have all the answers, you answered uncertainty with a definitive reply.
You were a creature of habit, but some habits needed to die.
Evasion had no home here.
Love could no longer rent out that space.
Even if it was for an old friend.
Even if, for once, evasion played no part.
Abrupt as the departing breath of death, former gestures ceased to flow. The exaggerated nature of a moment pretended to be larger than it really was. In staying true to the divine nature of a God, the contact of his touch sustained the weight of a feather. In that sense, he was barely there from the start. A kiss that just barely existed. It was as if your skin turned into poison for him, or maybe it was that way from the start. Lips of who you knew best were at most an acquaintance and it seemed they would stay that way.
Because fleeting as October leaves, his presence was by no means permanent.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, but the soft breath of his words drifted away from your skin as he leaned back.
Pale eyes swept up the moon and redefined its glow. An apologetic deity whose apologies came in the form of 'never' was renowned for his weightless presence.
But today he stitched lead into his skin.
In the spectrum of mortals, it was around now where you'd typically plummet into panic.
But that wasn't it.
Not now, at least.
You were happy.
But emotions were never your strong suit. They knew how to bubble over, but they didn't know how to simmer. From your chest to your face, they were rupturing with affection, and you didn't know what to do with it.
You didn't know what to do with anything;
Never, not even once.
So, it spilled out from your core.
You offered an embarrassed smile.
An honest to god, embarrassed smile.
You felt loved.
Even if it wasn't love.
Sanzu's gaze remained soft but the remnants of guilt were heavy, yet as always, fleeting. Shifting to something like boredom, he peered into the depths of a flustered existence.
“Do you love me?” Sanzu asked in the same manner one asks for the time.
Slamming your hands down onto either thigh, you leaned forward with a fierce intensity. Through eye contact alone, it was as if you were looking through every living thing. As if staring straight through the world itself. His question required that level of presence.
Offering a few enthusiastic nods, you replied, “more than anyone!”
It was less of a reply and more of an outburst.
Sanzu didn't seem disappointed nor pleased with your response. It was neutral. Sanzu remained as he was, with the same blades of grass beneath his fingertips. It was as if you'd simply given him the time, because that's what he asked.
He was the breeze of the day, and you were a leaf. You'd whip through the air every second of every season if need be.
“In what way do you love me?” He pressed further, yet his words upheld identical indifference.
“The way that ends with us getting married.”
“Why?”
“'Cos you're you,” you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing, since it technically was.
“And if I looked like someone else?”
“I'd still love ya.”
“And if I acted like someone else?”
“I'd still, still, still love ya.”
“And if I was someone else?”
“My love is a staple characteristic, it wouldn't go anywhere.”
“If that's the case,” he said, “then it could've been anyone, yeah?”
“No.” You frowned, almost offended. “That's wrong.”
“But isn't that what you said?” Sanzu flew off in some god awful direction as he gave a voice to passive-aggressive tendencies. Sneering upon delivery, he almost looked amused, but that kind of smile was never reserved for anything good. “If I were someone else, you'd still love me. So, if that's true, then it has nothing to do with who. All that matters is what, where and when.”
“…”
“Well, was I right?”
A critical stare tore into you.
A blank stare stripped you of all liveliness.
“Ya really want me to say it?” you asked, but the words hardly came out.
As if he were telling you to stab yourself, impatience was an answer resting upon delicate features.
Your eyebrows furrowed with something like anguish as you opened your mouth to respond.
Right as always, didn't come out in its typical tune.
It could've been anyone, you affirmed
“You were just unlucky.”
The words were yours, but it didn't dull the blade.
It sharpened it.
“But,” you continued, “I'm happy you're you. Y'know? Like seriously, the happiest. So, don't hate me, okay?”
Saddled with the leftovers of lethality, Sanzu opened his mouth to speak.
But shut it down with a breath.
No matter how escalated he may or may not have appeared, that energy had a short lifespan. Retiring the role of instigator, his gaze descended to the tide of dead leaves.
“Yeah,” was his answer, but white words played in a puddle of mud. “I shouldn't have said any of that.” He yielded, “sorry.”
Your answer drew blood.
It didn't take an idiot to see that much.
But as much as you dreaded saying it, it was a trivial matter.
Something deep down, you already knew.
Even if Sanzu assumed as much, confirmation to it was a different monster.
Uncertainty solidified true.
Honesty that served no purpose.
You pushed it down.
Down.
Down. Down. Down.
The past was fixed in permanence.
And what ifs were better off buried.
"It's okay Mr. Sanzu." You smiled and laid down, resting your head on his lap. “I'll always forgive ya no matter what. So never hate me, 'kay?”
“I won't,” said the upside-down blonde, though his conviction was as sound as silence.
But that was just how he was.
It didn’t change the meaning.
Pale flesh was molded from grains of starlight and a fluid moon. In spite of their origin, slender fingers enveloped those of a black hole. Pressing the essence of a different life into your skin, Sanzu filtered out the bad parts. The sun was devoured by a corrupted god of yesterday, yet this reality only knew the color white.
“I love ya Mr. Sanzu, more than anyone.”
As if you'd ever let him forget, an amused breath escaped his lips. “I know.”
It was a law of the universe.
And he didn't reject it.
As you kept your gaze fixed on the world above, you noticed it.
The sky was but a cheap imitation of the real deal.
“Stop staring at me,” Sanzu said to the sedated admirer.
Sadly, the real deal wasn't open to the idea of being watched.
With the same shit-eating grin as always, you replied, “my bad.”
And while you weren't supposed to stare, it was hard to look away.
Fragrant as a camellia and unguarded as their growth.
an // I dreaded uploading this on here, Tumblr mobile + long docs is just..
This will only hurt as much as you let it.
I'm an eccentric monster.
I shouldn't sleep next to pens.
Aluminum is my favorite metal.
Lemon is my favorite scent.
There are doves in my window
and a God at my door.
There are gods in the future,
and a God right next door.
There’s a dog in my heart,
and I keep barking for more.
There were some people in this world who, under no circumstances, should be asked; ‘are you okay?’ Primarily, the individuals with absolutely no control over themselves. Ignoring them at all costs would be of sound judgment.
Really, no one would think any less of you.
It might even lead to a spike in approval ratings.
Namely, from the neighbors.
“And then,” you wept, “and then,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I,” you wept, “I called him a shit-head asshole,” you bawled, spilling over accordingly.
Forget about approval ratings, Chifuyu shot up to number one on your neighbor’s hit lists.
Even if all he did was knock on your door, that meager action was enough to spark a one sided blood feud from hell. He could’ve knocked on any door in the world, but he had to interact with the one marked: don’t engage.
Chifuyu broke an unspoken rule.
Now, a penalty of neighborly glares dwelled upon him.
Not that the opinion of those deadbeats mattered. Aside from not mattering, their wrath was as threatening as dust. Due to the routine endeavors of binge drinking, those deadbeats found themselves critically handicapped at the dawn of each new day.
And thus oozed with hatred for all things during daytime sobriety.
Just as they'd love them come nightfall.
You could cry.
Chifuyu could knock.
Inevitably, they'd forget.
Honing a falcon grip onto Chifuyu’s shoulders, your head drooped, as it could no longer withstand the weight of despair. Both parties stood just outside your door since it wouldn’t be much of an attraction if it wasn’t out in the open. Yes, the second story walkway acted as the perfect stage for broadcasting your distress to the mites below. Free admission came with an uneventful display, seeing as it took until now for you to perform a coherent sentence. Chifuyu, despite initiating the checkup, had been no more than an unspoken advisor to this teeming performance.
In your line of emotions, there was no shortage of tears.
You undoubtedly had the capability to drown the world if you wished to do so.
Fortunately, for humanity's sake, that wasn’t a priority.
“Hey, it's not that bad.” Chifuyu awkwardly attempted to soothe you with a few pats on the head. “You've said a lot worse, so.”
“So?” Your head shot up.
“So there's no need to worry about it.” He beamed in a manner that hinted his origin was actually that of the sun. “It's fine.”
You felt touched well beyond any good reason. Yes, you saw the light!—until a pesky pest felt the need to stop blending in.
It was as if he sensed your fleeting joy and wished to neutralize it.
Such was the nature of pests.
“Huh?” Sadness dissolved into vague hostility as you perceived the blonde intruder. “Where'd you come from?”
Of bleached hair and eyes that avoided contact, he was coming up hot on the scumbag radar. While worms were one matter, this breed was another. No, no, not a roach. At least cockroaches had that spunky ‘we’ll never die!’ energy to them, so in this case, they were the superior nuisance. This guy, on the other hand, had a squishable presence.
Truly, the worst category of pests.
A larva.
“Ah,” he 'ah'ed in a pesky fashion. “I've been here this whole time, but I guess I came from the stairs.” As if paying his respects to the superior pest, his gaze skittered around like a roach.
“Oh, I'm happy ya cleared that up.” Your expression softened. “So, you're just some creep whose creepy eyes can't decide on one creepy spot. Why creep up just one spot when ya can creep 'em all up, right?” The intensity of your presence hiked with every deliverance of 'creep', and it was only getting worse. “Yup. Creep to the creepo, I guess there's no shame in being a creep these days, huh?”
“Wait, it's not like that.” He waved his hands in front of his face spastically. “My name’s Hanagaki Takemichi and ah…”
He fell flat on his face in the verbal sense.
Lucky for him, he had the highest ranked support on standby.
“He's gonna get Baji back,” Chifuyu chimed in with an overwhelming recovery.
“Really?” Your warmth was damn near immediate. Raising either fist, you leaned forward in anticipation. “Ya really will?”
“Without a doubt!” he mindlessly fed into the tempo.
You were an easily swayed creature.
It was like an infinite game of heads or tails, and tails just exhibited a triple flip to land on heads.
“I'll seriously love ya forever, Tameniki,” you said, switching up faster than a thought.
“It's Takemichi,” he corrected.
“Sorry, Tareiki.”
“No… Takemichi.”
“Tafumichi.”
“...”
“Nakemachi.”
“You're doing that on purpose, right?”
“Doing what on purpose?” Tilting your head to one side, you pressed a puzzled hand to your cheek. “Damelichi?”
“It's getting further…” His adrenalin was quickly wearing into nonexistence with each new adaptation of his name.
“Taketakemimichi?”
“Almost, just without the middle.”
“Hafunarahengaichi?”
“That one wasn't even…” His spirit progressively shriveled.
“Ichi?”
“Good job.” Chifuyu patted you on the shoulder as an added bonus of reinforcement.
It was common knowledge that most people weren't born with bandages and splints. Yet, the blonde with an undercut sported both.
How peculiar.
How very, very strange.
What could it mean?
“Hmm.” Altering the direction of your focus, it finally registered the downright wretched state of your vice-captain. Wretched meaning beaten to a pulp and put back together with the peels. “Hey, didja get jumped Chifuyu?”
“Sort of,” he said in a wishy-washy manner. “But no worries, I took care of them.”
“How very Chifuyu of ya.”
“Right.” Accepting his name as a compliment, he continued on to separate matters. “Well, I mainly stopped by to make sure you weren't worrying too much. So, if you feel like worrying again, just remember that we'll have it handled before too long.”
“Okay,” you said, with nothing but compliance. “I wish I could help but I’m not good with stuff like this.” Scrunching your brows, you looked at the vice-captain. “Thanks for doing all the hard stuff, Chifuyu…” You looked at the other guy. “Takomichi.”
“C'mon, don't thank us yet,” Chifuyu complained through a chummy demeanor.
“Right.” You nodded with a smile. “Well, I'll love ya no matter what, Chifuyu.” Looking back to the other blonde, you flipped the figurative coin back to tails. “Don’t mess up or I’ll hate ya forever, ‘kay?”
“Yeah,” his response was nothing short of dead serious. “I promise I won’t.”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll shave your eyebrows off, ‘kay?”
“...huh?”
“Don’t mess up or I’ll rip out all your fingernails, ‘kay?”
“—!”
In seconds flat, the third rate blonde looked to be visibly sweating. The rippling presence of a predator just had that effect on some people, except—not really.
You, along with Chifuyu, only lasted a total of four seconds before bursting out in formerly restrained laughter.
When it came to first impressions, your track record spelled out 'don't engage', in thick red ink. In that first initial stage, some unknown force drove you to be the absolute worst. Like a fundamental instinct, similar to how cats feel drawn to screw with anything that can’t kill them, not out of necessity, but just because.
The same shouldn't apply to basic human interactions, yet here we are.
It was such a foreseeable occurrence that even Chifuyu anticipated it.
“My bad. Ya seemed super tense, so,” you said, offering something that made no attempt to resemble an apology.
If it resembled anything, it was a justification.
“Was that supposed to make it better?” the person of many names breathed out.
“Not really,” you admitted.
“Sorry Takemitchy.” Chifuyu's laughter died out as he handed out an authentic apology, as well as a chummy pat on the back. “Well, at least you seem serious about this.”
Wrapping up with a few parting ‘goodbyes’, the rescue squad departed, and you stepped back inside. You had a dirty schedule today, aka helping an adult with adult matters.
Yes, scum incarnate.
In an odd hurry, you tended to the excess remains of food prep by escorting them to the trash. Yet, catching an unwanted glimpse of the cans' innards, a society of business cards waved hello.
—you did a bad job yesterday.
-
One might think this scene was directed straight from a dump, a scrap heap even, but no. From the comfort of a dingy lot within a dingy complex, the ultimate scumbag reigned supreme. Battered in oil and whatever else, Mr. Scumbag wore his gross crown beneath a scrap of something that played make-believe vehicle. Meanwhile, you (unfortunately) crouched beside his greasy legs and waited for his (lack of) direction.
“You alright kid? You haven’t threatened me today,” he asked, obviously high off of motor oil.
“Oh. Right.” You took an exasperated breath. “I’ll key your car, something, something, hot-wire, blackmail.”
It was hardly an attempt.
You couldn’t be bothered with details.
Escaping from the underside of the car, Mr. Scumbag sat up, wiped some excess car residue on his pants for good luck, and then proceeded to focus all his filthy attention on you.
“C’mon kid, out with it. What’s wrong?”
Without an ounce of restraint you replied, “I was lost and got into the car with a bad person.”
Who would’ve guessed scumbags could look uglier than their default model? Beneath a lifetime of filth, the muscles in Mr. Scumbag’s face tightened up, as if to make up for all the years he'd let himself go.
Honestly, you weren’t sure what he was trying to do, but he should probably stop.
It looked painful.
“Did they do anything to you?” Mr. Scumbag pressed, exhibiting an intensity that threatened to singe every last filthy fuse of his ancient hardware.
You shook your head, allowing Mr. Scumbag to take a much needed sigh. It was like someone held down the button to his power supply, because the short-term defect got fixed back to default.
Not that it was much better (it was).
No matter the model, a scumbag’s still a scumbag, you just happened to have a preference.
Resigning all intensity, Mr. Scumbag continued, “why didn't you call me instead?”
“'Cos,” you said blankly, “ya don't have your phone number on a card.”
“A business card?”
You shrugged, raising your hands.
Standing up, stained hands searched through stained pockets. After a bout of ruining already ruined clothes, he pulled out a card.
A folded and crumpled ‘business’ card smeared with oil.
Was he a hypocrite or what? The first rule was to wear gloves.
Reaching out, you accepted the oily token of business. As always, you could read the numbers, but kanji was still a work in progress. The fresh stain was likely his translation of ‘dirty deadbeat with a business for hire’.
“I'm being serious now,” Mr. Scumbag said, marking now as a serious milestone. “Where are your parents?”
“On vacation.”
You needed a tape recorder for moments like these.
Specifically, for Mr. Scumbag, since his memory couldn’t retain the answer.
He shook his head, falling into a deep silence.
Scumbags shouldn’t be left to think on their own. God only knows what they’ll come up with.
“I know it won't do much good at this point, but.” He scratched his head. “I can take care of you until they get back. The other one too. It’d be better than having something like that happen again.”
“Wow, ya finally went off the deep end, huh?” You asked, displaying the same authentic nature as a person who donates money to charity.
“Can’t say I wasn’t expecting something like that,” he admitted. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here. Just make sure to call me if you need help, alright?”
“Got it,” you replied, though your spirit was still lacking. “I just remembered, I need help. So hand over all the dirty business money you've been hoarding.”
At this point, you just sounded bored.
A joyless endeavor of lame proportions.
“Listen, I'm not hoarding money, so drop it already.”
“But you're working all the time. So, if you're not hoarding it, then ya must be spending it on sinful adult stuff.”
Mr. Scumbag opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out other than his faith for humanity.
“Whatever,” you said, up and ready to drop the eternal war, “I fold.”
Fed up with crouching, you plopped down onto ever uneven asphalt and hit the GAME OVER screen.
The world was a child and you were a roll of bubble tape.
There was no potential of forming a truce between those two.
“Will you stop lookin’ so sorry if I explain it?”
Even if he was a spectator, Mr. Scumbag didn't want the game to end yet. He was shoving pocket lint into the coin slot as a last-ditch attempt. That was the kind of person he was, one who stuffed arcade games full of trash.
That was what people did when they got to his age.
They came up with solutions that made no sense.
You really couldn’t get mad at him for trying.
“Dunno yet. Maybe? I can predict so little that ya might activate my thirst for world domination instead, but who knows?” You shrugged ambiguously. “It might be world peace.”
“Not the answer I was looking for, kid.”
“Well, if ya want someone to lie about the future, then go watch the news. I gotta preserve honesty, or whatever.”
“Can't say I believe that last part.”
“C'mon, stop holdin' out and cough it up already Mr. Scumbag.”
“Alright, alright.” He crossed his arms and released a disclaimer, “just know that it's not as interesting as it is in your head.”
Mr. Scumbag, a modest man.
—said no one ever.
“How sad,” you let out, guided by the hand of fraudulent exasperation, “I'm already way disappointed.”
In a dingy complex, in a dingy lot, a greased up middle aged man and a teenager occupied asphalt. Facing one another with legs crossed, both parties tuned out the passing gazes of those who weren’t invited to story-time-for-two. The environment was as immersive as it was inconvenient for others. It wasn’t actually inconvenient, but people, y’know? Either way those mites didn’t matter.
Oil was in the air and story-time commenced.
“Okay kid, lemme start by saying, all this we do on the weekends, I don't see a penny of it. The shop's a bit of a different story, but this profit here.” He banged on the death-scrap vehicle. “Isn't going into my pocket.”
“Did it grow legs? 'Cos I'm not buying it Mr. Scumbag.”
“No, it didn't grow legs, just hang on for a second.” He took a breath, well aware of the concentration needed to pull this off. “So, you know about my sister, right?”
“Uh-huh. Ya ditch me some weekends to go watch her house and kid. She must be a real good person if she lets ya inside.”
“Nice way of putting it, but yeah. When she picks up overtime, I go and watch her kid. Pretty simple,” he explained. “Now, a while back, some scumbag went and robbed her place. It's not like she's rich or anything, but still, that piece of shit found the money she'd been saving. To make matters worse, it was supposed to be for the kids' college fees. The whole thing tore her up pretty bad, it was a damn shame.”
His words came out as free and easy, yet emotion snuck out through a fine series of cracks. Leaking out through the ever merciless color, black; it looked like regret. While it shouldn't have bothered you, it did. Because even if adults were the worst, sometimes they were good people.
Mr. Scumbag was a lot of things, but he wasn't a bad person.
He was a good person.
A really, really, really good person.
Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people.
And bad people shouldn’t exist.
“Geez, that's seriously messed up,” you said in disgust. “I mean, for you to say they're a scumbag, they gotta be the scummiest.”
“Yeah, well, they still never caught the piece of shit. But either way, that's why we're here now.” He breathed out a conclusive breath. “I didn't want kids of my own, so I figured the best I could do was help hers have a good life. That’s how I got into doing these extra jobs on the weekend. I wanted to help my sis make up her losses, y’know?”
“Oh. Weird. I guess I never would've blinked your way if ya weren't a weekend mechanic, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He released a hearty laugh from his gut. “See what happens when you try an’ do something good?”
Yeah, you pick up a kid who’s keen on hot-wiring and blackmail.
It was as the saying goes; if you don’t want fleas, don’t go outside.
He knew the risk.
“Not really, but hey.” The corners of your eyes creased as you flashed Mr. Scumbag your cheesiest grin. “If ya ever find out who did it, I'll beat 'em up for ya. On the house.”
“Appreciate the offer, but I'd rather do it myself.”
—huh?
Was that your heart just now? If so, then why did it sound like it shattered? On second glance, what were those fragments sticking out of Mr. Scumbag’s hands? If you were in your right mind, you’d say it was your heart, but was it? Was that your heart? Was this his attempt at murder? Did he just try to kill you?
No, don’t be silly.
That was just how feelings worked.
“I dunno why, but that denial kinda hurt Mr. Scumbag.”
“Sorry kid,” he said, brushing off the anomaly with ease. “Well, I hope putting my family's dirty laundry out there got you back to the typical routine.”
By routine, he could've only meant spirited verbal assault.
Mechanic roughly translates to masochist.
“Yeah, I dunno why ya thought that'd cheer me up, but at least I see ya in a new light, and that's-”
“Y'know, I'm gonna stop you while you're ahead.” He pressed his hands against the asphalt in an attempt to stand. “So, let's pick this up another time.”
“Wow.” You beamed fluffily. “You’re way better at predicting the future than all those phonies on TV.”
Making a handful of pained, yet overdramatic groans as he got to his feet, Mr. Scumbag took note, “I can't help but think that's the first time you directed something at me that wasn't an insult.”
“Ya thought super well, but seriously.” Dialing back the banter for just a moment, you continued earnestly, “thanks Mr. Scumbag, and sorry about your sis. I bet she's a good person too.”
Though your words were sincere, you tensed up as the recoil damage of embarrassment threatened to move in.
You weren't ready to lie down and die in front of an adult just yet.
Preemptively shutting down his chance to reply, your reflexes protected you from any real or imagined emotions that threatened to follow. “Don't respond,” you chittered in a torrential downpour of half-assed defenses. Armed with the intent of extracting yourself from the scene, you sprung to your feet. “Ever,” you specified, moving forward with a strategic retreat.
Scampering off in a mad dash, you traversed the crumbling prison of asphalt to escape the scummiest adults' home field advantage. Ascending stairs that followed their own wobbly protocol, the repetition of each step clanked against metal; a song of rust declared the sensitive crisis as averted.
It was a close call.
The reservoir of embarrassment nearly got tapped for some masochist mechanic.
It wasn't actually a big deal, but talking was just like that sometimes. You say things. Countless things. Expected things. Wholehearted things. While you say all these things, you don't always know how the other person might respond.
And that was scary.
Unanticipated rejection was scary.
The vulnerability of speaking one's truth was an unnerving force.
Yet you were glad you spoke yours.
Even if it wasn't much.
It was something.
-
Staring at the playing cards that spelled 'lose already', your mind drifted elsewhere. The day wasn't dead yet, and Sanzu came back earlier than anticipated, meaning yet another close call with watching the banned genre. There was something about the fear of getting caught that upped the overall quality of it.
Funny how those things worked.
Sanzu was paying as much attention to the game as you were, yet it came with the title of the best to win even while absorbed in television. The month of October was horror's best buddy, and in this moment, that was Sanzu's best buddy. Piercing screams came out as crackled, not that they were broadcast that way, but due to creative differences, the old-as-time television conveyed it as such.
Media was one of a kind here, limited edition even.
Watching the TV's portrayal of the program, Sanzu placed down another card, successfully cutting your likelihood of survival into whatever it was from the start, because at no point was the survival rating anything besides death: wait times may vary. Sealing the loser's fate, you placed another card and died accordingly.
Your cheek slumped into the support of a loser's hand as you dwelled on a scary thought that wasn't horror. “Are dates only for people with money?”
Sanzu shook his head. “I doubt it. Money just makes it convenient.”
“So that means we've gone on lots of dates, right Mr. Sanzu?”
Through an always breezy gaze, Sanzu catered to cards of bent edges and scuffs, working them back into the deck. Placid in presence, your words weren't cause for a ripple or wave, but there was happiness in that which didn't change.
And Sanzu would always be the same.
Even if he wasn't.
Pushing the remaining cards back into the deck, Sanzu offered a careless reply.
An utterly careless reply.
“I guess.”
Expecting a dictionary of passive aggressive retorts as well as every term that opposed confirmation, the forecast for the day was flawed beyond recovery.
Off guard and fizzing, playful tactics worked against you as you toppled into a blend of distress.
The loser's fate carried out its duty.
“Hey,” you whined. “I’ll die if ya surprise me too much.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, not alluding to a microfiber of concern. “That's fine. What I meant to say was no, if I had to choose between going on a date with you or murdering everyone in this complex, I’d choose murder every time.”
Honing an unphased presence meant nothing.
Sanzu's eye to eyebrow ratio spoke in microfiber.
Yet the malicious intent of his words transcended into a separate life-form.
A cosmic shadow swirled black.
“—kidding ♡,” you chimed. “And besides, do ya really think one complex is enough? I mean, eventually there wouldn’t be any left. So, you’d only be stalling.”
“I think the guilt would get to you before that point.” Pushing loose strands back behind his ear, Sanzu effortlessly dominated today's blonde lineup. “Well, Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Ever heard of it, or should I explain?”
“Watch what ya say Mr. Sanzu, ‘cos if I fall for ya any more, it might get scary.”
“And what part should I be watching?” Placing the deck of cards to the side, Sanzu humored you with judgment. “Honestly, if that's how you feel, then maybe I should take you to the hospital instead.”
Delivering a scraping shriek against the floorboards, your chair propelled back, and you sprung to your feet as if reenacting the wake-up sequence of televised boot camps.
It’s all fun and games until the hospital gets brought up.
Then it’s fear fueled submission.
“I’ll follow ya to the depths of hell, really anywhere. Just don’t make me go to the hospital.”
“I’m happy to hear you think hospitals are more threatening than hell.”
“Yup, it’s no good to be picky, so I only picked one.”
“And which one was that? Negligence?”
“Huh?” You tilted your head to a puzzled degree. “What made ya say that?”
“Because hospitals shouldn’t be your only concern,” Sanzu said. “But since you don't have an issue with it, I won't get in your way.”
“No worries Boss, I have loads of shady concerns, like Mr. Scumbag's apartment and the news HQ.” Your eyebrows knit apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t want ya to think I was picky.”
“It’s not like it'd matter either way.”
Did he say he was in love with you? Because that was how it sounded.
All jokes aside, 'let’s go', was underway.
A masterfully stuffed dresser fell to the mercy of Sanzu, who tried pulling out a singular article of clothing but ended up with a handful. The long-term effects of over-packing triggered the abused storage unit's wrath.
A dresser's wrath wasn't all that intimidating.
It was slightly irritating at most.
What was more irritating was the furniture industry. Yeah, the furniture industry. Those schmucks. Where did they get off thinking they could charge so much for a box? It was a slippery slope; once humans realized they could store clothing somewhere other than the ground, the furniture industry had already won. And now, in present day Japan, those schmucks want six months of rent for a box.
Let that sink in.
A box.
That’s the power we gave them.
And now, formerly handed down thanks to the expiration of an elderly neighbor; the joint dresser had a workload of two. So, in regards to the clean clothes now on the floor, the fault fell on none other than those box hoarding schmucks. Maybe, if they weren’t an organization based off greed, that poor dresser wouldn’t need to spit up a spectacle of fabric every time an item was required.
Hardly sparing a glance at the scene of the crime, Sanzu scooped up the evidence and discarded it. Boxes, aside from their insides, have formidable outsides, primarily the backup storage of a flat surface. Unconcerned with the evidence's wellbeing, he tossed the evicted clothes onto the spot known as storage v2.
Tossed and then sorted.
Wrinkles were an ally of scumbags, after all.
Besides the roaches deployed by none the ruler of filth himself, this was an anti-scum household.
Targeted by a fabric missile, you caught the pullover delivered via air mail. While you appreciated the present, it wasn’t necessary considering it was still warm outside. Maybe this was Sanzu’s way of saying ‘burn to death’.
Putting on a display of question mark-esque confusion, Sanzu came prepared with period-esque answers.
“We’ll be gone for a while.”
“Mmm…’kay!”
Compliance turned into second nature once the whisper of a hospital entered the equation.
The series of events that came next included bus stop to train stop forms of travel. Though remaining in the dark in terms of the destination, you could grasp minimal details.
Far.
It was far.
Had you ever traveled this far?
No, probably not.
But also—maybe?
Who knows, you were a bad judge.
Engulfing the sky in a sea of flames, sunlight glared through each window to cast shadows by your feet. The train huffed along, lacking interest in the scenery it passed along the way.
Though you did the same.
Occupied with interpreting the row of ads overhead, one depicted a popular makeup brand often featured on TV.
Defined by flawless powders and contours, the models they used were always pretty.
You wanted to look like them one day.
Adults had it all, didn't they?
Seated side by side, the duo played tug of war in the verbal sense as a woman's voice broadcasted any multitude of stops before Sanzu decided on one.
You didn’t know where you were, and you didn’t care to ask.
It was foreign and far.
A part of you wasn’t sure Sanzu even knew where you were, considering the extent of wandering that’d taken place. Honestly, where the hell were you? This prefecture had so much space in between houses and structures, they must’ve all been sitting on some hefty coins by Tokyo standards.
Not to mention the tree to tree horizon.
A truly intimidating sight.
Man-made buildings were a known evil.
Trees were a natural one.
From the perspective of someone who was directionally incompetent, it was a safe practice to never question those who were competent. Although, amidst this adventure, you’d seen a repetition of the same cat statue outside strikingly similar storefronts. Or the same one. Who could say? Obviously not you.
“I wonder, are we lost?” You asked, attached to Sanzu’s arm.
Don't get the facts screwed up. It wasn't out of fear of him leaving you here. That wasn't what any of this was about. Either way, you clung to him like a koala to a branch.
“No. I’m not you,” Sanzu shot back, unable to reclaim his arm.
“Right as always, Mr. Sanzu. I guess everyone around here must have the same taste in statutes, huh?”
Sanzu ceased all movement.
Looked to his left.
Looked to his right.
Recalibrated, then rerouted.
On the new and improved path of travel, the sights were essentially the same until a set of steps missing a step came into view—barely, thanks to the shedding aid of overgrown foliage. From the observatory glance of a professional, it led up into the woods.
It wasn’t looking good for you.
The only thing forests were good for was murder.
And nature walks, but meh?
Murder was a more interesting assumption.
Well, it was as per the October spirit.
At least it wasn’t a hospital.
Climbing the questionable steps with fingers entwined in an ultimate knot, the bright side of this ordeal was you wouldn’t get left behind. Sure, Sanzu made a few passive attempts at pulling away, but if you were good at anything, it was clinging. His hand was at the mercy of a borderline threatening grip. Anything less than construction equipment or consent wouldn’t pry you off.
Branching off this way and that, there were as many paths as a maze enthusiast could dream of. Though, of a maze of enthusiasts' nightmares, there were also occasional signs aiding with direction. Dead leaves crunched under your feet as you matched Sanzu's every step. Through a varying density of trees and plant life in their decaying stage, the duo strayed from the path into off the grid territory.
“Okay,” Sanzu said out of the blue.
He stopped, somewhere that looked identical to all the rest. A spot with barren trees and dried up leaves. The options were slim.
A.) He murders you here.
B.) He leaves you here.
C.) He already murdered someone here, and you were the cleanup crew.
D.) He wanted to make a leaf scrapbook.
Freeing his fingers from the snake-like grip, Sanzu sat down near one of many trees, still withholding context. As always, you followed. Sitting down criss-cross in the grass, you faced your roommate and withheld all terror.
“You’ll get it soon, so just wait until then,” was the closest thing to an answer he’d give.
“Anything for you, boss,” you complied with a lack of judgment.
Hanging around here until nightfall seemed like a downright awful idea, but that was looking like the plan of action.
How terrifying.
Without the guidance of eye offending, day even at night, Tokyo lights, this place would be as bright as a nightmare.
Maybe this was Sanzu’s sadistic side.
How dreamy of him.
Romantic even.
Looking past the stunt they pulled yesterday, you set your sights on the heavens and bombarded them with a mantra of: make it something not scary. But harassing gods who harassed you offered no results. They were stingy in that sense. Which was most unfortunate, since answering was their only means to stopping you.
And not just any answer.
It had to be something not scary.
If the reason you were here, even vaguely resembled scary, they’d gain a most irritating enemy.
A spam pray-er.
Awaiting a reply, you monitored their home.
Each tree mourned for parts of themself that lay dead in the grass, but it was an essential sacrifice. Otherwise, the sky wouldn’t be the sky.
It’d just be leaves.
Yet thanks to the season ridding the visual obstacle of life from this place, you had a half-decent view.
Twisted in nature, the moon approached to glorify the sorry state of a world below. While one forfeited its beauty, the moon bragged of its own permanence.
A satellite had no way of empathizing with a planet, nor did it want to.
Yet those of earth found brilliance in a rock, who disputed with darkness each night. They admired the proud being in its eternal pond, basked in white.
The moon felt loved in that way.
In all of its sameness.
Setting the backdrop for a gleeful moon, the cool ombre of dusk seeped down its canvas. Though it started with lavender, it always ended in blue.
But there was that which wasn't lavender or blue.
Subtle, yet to those accustomed to city nightlife, apparent.
Brushstrokes that painted the moon mistakenly spritzed the echoes of its ink.
Faint glimmers of dust polluted the sky.
Yeah, stars.
A handful, to be exact.
“Hey,” you said, though from your expression to your tone, both exhibited genuine concern. “What’s going on?” You asked, squishing your brows together.
“What part do you need me to explain?”
“Not one. It's just—geez. I was super nervous this entire time.” Despite overcoming 'this entire time', your laugh still came out as high-strung. “I was so nervous that I probably woulda cried if ya made any sudden movements.”
“Oh.” Sanzu blinked, yet a thought bubble seemed to pop as the nature of the situation dawned on him. “I guess that makes more sense,” he noted. “I thought it was about the weather.”
“Nope.” You beamed in relief. “Purely fear.”
Sanzu settled on half a grin, as to avoid fanning the sadist flame too heavily. “At least you're true to your word.”
“Uh-huh, truer than true, so never make me go to the hospital.”
“Don't break any more bones and I won't have to.”
“Can do Mr. Sanzu.” You smiled. “Also, sorry if I cry,”
It was a preemptive apology.
Doing so softens the blow of future impact.
Sanzu’s elbow settled upon his knee as his palm cushioned the weight of his face. Undisturbed in the present, his eyes gauged the future, along with every pattern of the past.
“I'd prefer it if you didn't,” he said in an impartial tone.
“But my appreciation comes out through my eyes.”
“If you don't want to go to the hospital, then you should stop bringing up conditions that say you should.”
“I won't cry! I guess I'll say thanks through a confession of love instead.”
“Is not doing either of those out of the question?”
“Hmm…” You put miles of consideration into an answer. “Yep, way out of the question. The most I can do is hold 'em back for a bit.”
While you were at the mercy of expressing gratitude, the grandmaster of threats found a way to make you hold it back indefinitely without lifting a finger.
—words were a powerful combatant.
And Sanzu excelled at making them into live bombs.
Sadly, your emotions were the worst kind of final boss. They might take some time off, but they'd be back, buff and crazed on steroids. Be that minutes or days, who knows? The moral of the story was that even if the original villain to a franchise was the most successful, at some point they needed to stop coming back and hand off the baton. Though, if the baton merged with the villain, then that settles the nature of such affairs.
This was that kind of dilemma.
A solo villain production.
Nice and simple.
To be continued… (eternally.)
Playing the waiting game came with nothing but rewards. Those dinky flickers at the start were nothing. The beginning was but a transitional tease of this sky's hidden potential. As the sun strayed to foreign lands, the glimmering of space mixed in with night.
Fear of the dark was in human nature, just as the fear of cities was in a star's nature.
They couldn't coexist for reasons unknown.
“I'm confused,” you said. “We can see them here, but not at home?”
“Yeah. Apparently, this still isn't all that great,” Sanzu replied, downplaying the sight.
“How?”
“I'm not sure, but you can see more depending on where you are.”
“What creeps,” you sniffled. “They should give everybody the same show.”
Sanzu gazed at the figure who was currently laid out on the ground. The one who was unable to cast away the original villain at heart. The one who couldn't handle the task of not crying. Even so, you thought obscuring your face with a barricade of arms would do the trick. Laying back was an additional wall of out of view security.
In practice, it was perfect.
“I'm not grateful,” you said, deploying the irrefutable excuse, “I'm just super mad.”
“Okay,” he answered the lie with downright, one worded compliance.
Even if Sanzu was the grandmaster of threats, he was hardly interested in upholding them all the time, or anytime. Arming him with a bad mood and words was a threat all on its own, so that counted for all the upholding he doesn't uphold.
Rubbing your eyes free of any illegal emotions, you disposed of the person you were a few seconds ago.
“I'm lying,” you said, shooting up to reclaim your existence as someone who sits. “I wasn't really mad. I was way, way happy.”
“Yeah. No shit,” Sanzu said, as mirroring scars reached with the curve of his smile.
“I guess I still got a long way to go before I'm skilled at secretly crying.”
“Some goals aren't realistic for one lifetime.”
“Oh no,” you exclaimed to an exaggerated degree. “How scary. I'm falling for ya more Mr. Sanzu.”
“Terrifying,” Sanzu said, not so terrified.
His reactive levels were hit-or-miss today.
But that was fine.
You were already dangerously happy.
“Hey, hey, Mr. Sanzu. How'd ya know about this place?”
“I was here with Muto a few weeks ago.”
“Here?”
“Near here.”
“To see stars?”
“No, for something else.”
“Oh… ya really like him, don’t ya?”
“Yeah,” Sanzu's words were warm, “I do.”
Sanzu liked Muto… you liked Baji. That's how things were. How they would always be. How they were supposed to be.
Your line of sight strayed back to the tourist attraction of twinkling heights.
Outside of a city where stars couldn't reach, stars were a companion of night.
They could reach.
New sights could bring about any number of reactions. One of the many was silence. Your words died out. After all, this wasn't artificial light.
That's why you grew silent.
That's why.
Yet, reading without words wasn't an exclusive art. Nor was it some hidden talent. It was simply knowing. Knowing, without understanding.
You still didn't quite understand, but.
It was an awareness.
A god awful awareness.
“What’s wrong?”
The graveyard of leaves crunched beneath your figure as they monitored your every movement. Crossing your arms, tilting to the left, then to the right, you pondered a catalog of excuses.
“I can't stop thinking.” You paused and squinted, deciding to turn down routine evasion. “I’m a bad person.”
Lacking any sway in tone, Sanzu simply asked the question.
“Why’s that?”
“'Cos,” you said. “It’s the way I am. All I really do is rely on everyone else,” you couldn't get all the words out.
Some random guy said he'd get Baji back.
Some random guy.
He said so but…
Shit, what if-
While deconstructing on the spot would’ve been easy, other factors made it hard. Namely, Sanzu. The slightest touch was grounding as the hands you loved most cupped your face. If you had to interpret the meaning behind each callous, they'd say: we exist to be remembered. So even if you were up above the clouds, you’d know to come back to a feeling you knew. Driving your attention back to the center of the world, he leaned in closer.
“Then rely on me.” Sanzu held your gaze and asserted, “just me.”
You stalled out and blinked, only for a grin to sprout on your face. “Yeah.”
Everything would go back to normal.
Everything would stay the same.
Nothing would ever change.
Never.
Drifting further into hands littered by scrapes and scuffs, they embodied the essence of something like love. From his fingers to his palms, they brushed against your skin and felt like love. Prominent scars embraced his lips and feathered lashes cradled his gaze, Sanzu was a delicate deity fixed on only you, and it felt like love. Existing as yourself, you didn't have to be anyone else, and it felt like love. Sanzu was a safety net who'd never fray, and that felt like love. Fueled by the desire to pour over with limitless devotion, it was love.
It was only love.
The desire to drown in love.
To suffocate on love.
To earn love.
Eventually, you'd figure it out.
Disturbing the stillness, you spilled over affectionately. With the aid of knees and toes, you leaned forward, as greedy arms wrapped around his neck, welcoming arms wrapped around you. Resting your face over his shoulder, strands of blonde greeted your skin, as if to say ‘welcome back’. If you belonged anywhere, it was right here.
You wanted it to be closer.
So much closer.
It was bubbling over;
A love that could drown the sun.
It was bubbling over and it felt close. It was so close to love. It was so close and he didn't deny your aim for more. No, he shouldered everything you were, because love felt so close. His fingers whispered over your spine, settling into the space between your shoulder blades. You were suffocating on affection, and love felt so close. His touch was reminiscent of home because home could travel, and it felt so close to love.
It was so close.
But you still couldn't reach.
Even so, you harbored enough love for the both of you.
That would never change.
It made its way under your skin; that 'almost', had settled right in. And as he held you closer, you felt loved, no matter what it really was. Because after all, you wanted it more than anyone.
—love.
Or anything that vaguely resembled it.
And well, you felt it in every flimsy bone.
—loved.
Well versed in the definition of his shoulders down to the outline of his spine, you read the parts of him that had no voice and memorized them beyond any brushstroke or word.
They spelled out the structure of the world.
The structure of the universe
One you could touch.
For not all humans met so many Gods.
Not all humans got their attention.
Not all humans felt the need to.
Not all humans.
Maybe it was just you.
If so, you were truly lucky.
And for these emotions to belong only to you.
You were truly lucky.
Relinquishing the best, you leaned back to give him room. Except, not quite. Tilting your face down was an action led by the help of your roommate. Following his every beat, anything he offered felt like love. The empty parts felt full. As Sanzu sheltered your cheeks, his hands acted as a placeholder, but that's where they belonged.
And everything was okay.
Because there was only love.
Fluid movements mimicked air as he drew closer, while gentle lashes carried the gaze of the world. He was all of everything, all of it pressed down into one, with pale blue fixed on you. Just you. Which emotion did they carry?
Affection.
It was affection.
Close moved closer.
With a rising pulse, your heart dropped all prior ambitions and turned dead set on bypassing the restrictions of your chest. It played to a rapid tune, one that conveyed life and love and everything else.
Planted to the space between Sanzu's legs, your fingers wrung out the fabric of his jacket.
Until you remembered how to breathe.
This oxygen was the only source.
Clear and pure.
Tender as the autumn sun, Sanzu pressed his lips to your forehead. Distributing warmth, it felt like love. Only love. The desire to drown bloomed amongst the decay of life, so as he parted from your skin, you wanted anything else. Yet for reasons unknown, emotions always worked against you at times like these. A tenseness constricted your body, and contrary to the weightlessness of his movements, yours barely functioned as stiff.
Peering into eyes struck by the moon, they swallowed you up in the same manner they always did. “You're freezing up again,” he murmured. “It's no different than any other time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said, cracking a smile. “Right as always.”
It was never any different.
Because nothing ever changed.
It was only ever the same.
Tender fingers grazed over the nape of your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours. Fresh air untouched by the exhausts of humanity acted as a base for the near nonexistent fragrance of discount shampoo. Threads of blonde spilled over his shoulders as the accustomed scent turned potent.
It was a capability that only Sanzu possessed.
Your gaze lingered over features he kept out of sight. Flawlessly cracked and marked for eternity, the past took to the image of raised flesh, and while you didn't quite get it, no matter how much our bodies loved us, they couldn't mask tragedy of that degree.
So, you had to surpass that love.
You cherished every inch that the body could heal, and that which it couldn't. You adored the version of him that he was, and the permanence of each part that'd never go back.
Even if you had to love those parts at a distance.
There was a certain stillness in quiet motions, as you ignored the persistence of shaky hands and instead closed your eyes to digest the only feeling that mattered. Searing every touch, every scent, every hushed moment deep within your memory, fluttering spilled from your stomach and melted through the earth's core. By now, your heart had surely blown straight through the confines of your chest.
Heightened states of emotion did that to a person.
—panic that was pleasant.
The chill of his nose nudged against yours, yet his palms spoke of warmth. Sanzu conveyed the season through the surface of his skin. One that’d yet to be named.
The season's name was change.
Gentle as the first breath of life, soft lips brushed over yours, as if to say they didn't solely exist to be on the receiving end of someone's fist. No, they didn't only exist to be split apart, because this felt mended together. Even if your skin was buzzing and you didn't have all the answers, you answered uncertainty with a definitive reply.
You were a creature of habit, but some habits needed to die.
Evasion had no home here.
Love could no longer rent out that space.
Even if it was for an old friend.
Even if, for once, evasion played no part.
Abrupt as the departing breath of death, former gestures ceased to flow. The exaggerated nature of a moment pretended to be larger than it really was. In staying true to the divine nature of a God, the contact of his touch sustained the weight of a feather. In that sense, he was barely there from the start. A kiss that just barely existed. It was as if your skin turned into poison for him, or maybe it was that way from the start. Lips of who you knew best were at most an acquaintance and it seemed they would stay that way.
Because fleeting as October leaves, his presence was by no means permanent.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, but the soft breath of his words drifted away from your skin as he leaned back.
Pale eyes swept up the moon and redefined its glow. An apologetic deity whose apologies came in the form of 'never' was renowned for his weightless presence.
But today he stitched lead into his skin.
In the spectrum of mortals, it was around now where you'd typically plummet into panic.
But that wasn't it.
Not now, at least.
You were happy.
But emotions were never your strong suit. They knew how to bubble over, but they didn't know how to simmer. From your chest to your face, they were rupturing with affection, and you didn't know what to do with it.
You didn't know what to do with anything;
Never, not even once.
So, it spilled out from your core.
You offered an embarrassed smile.
An honest to god, embarrassed smile.
You felt loved.
Even if it wasn't love.
Sanzu's gaze remained soft but the remnants of guilt were heavy, yet as always, fleeting. Shifting to something like boredom, he peered into the depths of a flustered existence.
“Do you love me?” Sanzu asked in the same manner one asks for the time.
Slamming your hands down onto either thigh, you leaned forward with a fierce intensity. Through eye contact alone, it was as if you were looking through every living thing. As if staring straight through the world itself. His question required that level of presence.
Offering a few enthusiastic nods, you replied, “more than anyone!”
It was less of a reply and more of an outburst.
Sanzu didn't seem disappointed nor pleased with your response. It was neutral. Sanzu remained as he was, with the same blades of grass beneath his fingertips. It was as if you'd simply given him the time, because that's what he asked.
He was the breeze of the day, and you were a leaf. You'd whip through the air every second of every season if need be.
“In what way do you love me?” He pressed further, yet his words upheld identical indifference.
“The way that ends with us getting married.”
“Why?”
“'Cos you're you,” you answered, as if it were the most obvious thing, since it technically was.
“And if I looked like someone else?”
“I'd still love ya.”
“And if I acted like someone else?”
“I'd still, still, still love ya.”
“And if I was someone else?”
“My love is a staple characteristic, it wouldn't go anywhere.”
“If that's the case,” he said, “then it could've been anyone, yeah?”
“No.” You frowned, almost offended. “That's wrong.”
“But isn't that what you said?” Sanzu flew off in some god awful direction as he gave a voice to passive-aggressive tendencies. Sneering upon delivery, he almost looked amused, but that kind of smile was never reserved for anything good. “If I were someone else, you'd still love me. So, if that's true, then it has nothing to do with who. All that matters is what, where and when.”
“…”
“Well, was I right?”
A critical stare tore into you.
A blank stare stripped you of all liveliness.
“Ya really want me to say it?” you asked, but the words hardly came out.
As if he were telling you to stab yourself, impatience was an answer resting upon delicate features.
Your eyebrows furrowed with something like anguish as you opened your mouth to respond.
Right as always, didn't come out in its typical tune.
It could've been anyone, you affirmed
“You were just unlucky.”
The words were yours, but it didn't dull the blade.
It sharpened it.
“But,” you continued, “I'm happy you're you. Y'know? Like seriously, the happiest. So, don't hate me, okay?”
Saddled with the leftovers of lethality, Sanzu opened his mouth to speak.
But shut it down with a breath.
No matter how escalated he may or may not have appeared, that energy had a short lifespan. Retiring the role of instigator, his gaze descended to the tide of dead leaves.
“Yeah,” was his answer, but white words played in a puddle of mud. “I shouldn't have said any of that.” He yielded, “sorry.”
Your answer drew blood.
It didn't take an idiot to see that much.
But as much as you dreaded saying it, it was a trivial matter.
Something deep down, you already knew.
Even if Sanzu assumed as much, confirmation to it was a different monster.
Uncertainty solidified true.
Honesty that served no purpose.
You pushed it down.
Down.
Down. Down. Down.
The past was fixed in permanence.
And what ifs were better off buried.
"It's okay Mr. Sanzu." You smiled and laid down, resting your head on his lap. “I'll always forgive ya no matter what. So never hate me, 'kay?”
“I won't,” said the upside-down blonde, though his conviction was as sound as silence.
But that was just how he was.
It didn’t change the meaning.
Pale flesh was molded from grains of starlight and a fluid moon. In spite of their origin, slender fingers enveloped those of a black hole. Pressing the essence of a different life into your skin, Sanzu filtered out the bad parts. The sun was devoured by a corrupted god of yesterday, yet this reality only knew the color white.
“I love ya Mr. Sanzu, more than anyone.”
As if you'd ever let him forget, an amused breath escaped his lips. “I know.”
It was a law of the universe.
And he didn't reject it.
As you kept your gaze fixed on the world above, you noticed it.
The sky was but a cheap imitation of the real deal.
“Stop staring at me,” Sanzu said to the sedated admirer.
Sadly, the real deal wasn't open to the idea of being watched.
With the same shit-eating grin as always, you replied, “my bad.”
And while you weren't supposed to stare, it was hard to look away.
Fragrant as a camellia and unguarded as their growth.
