⇷ kazuichi!
Send “⇷” to view a memory from my muse’s past life. ll Slowly Accepting
( FAIR WARNING THIS IS HEAVY AF )
@cosfictions
🔧 - Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
His heart was thundering so loudly, he could barely hear anything else. It was deafening, to the point where he wasn’t certain if it would drown out the sound of his father’s footsteps. His back is pressed against the back of the closet, his trembling hands holding onto to the doorknob as tightly as he could.
He’s only delaying the inevitable, he knew - but fight or flight had gotten the better of him the moment he had heard his father’s motorcycle pull up towards the front of the shop, the badly maintained bike he refused for his son to touch sputtering in the same way he’d come to know over the years.
It was too early to start crying, too early to feel like his knees were about about to give way, and definitely too early to be hiding in the garage closet from him. But Kazuichi couldn’t think of anything else to do - he’d been in a blind panic from the moment he knew his father was coming home.
His work’s not done. He’s way behind schedule, two days behind on his quota already and he knew it. He’d been given one more day to catch up, and what had he done?
He’d fallen asleep. Exhausted, drained...he’d wasted the whole day because of it.
“Kazuichi!”
The booming voice made him flinch, and his already shaking fingers could barely hold onto the doorknob. He was hoping to avoid the encounter for just a few minutes more, but he could already feel the door jerk and clatter. He let out of a gasp, sweaty palms trying to desperately hold on.
“Son of a bitc- get the hell out of there! Do you hear me?!”
Kazuichi could only reply with a sob. Moments later, his grip gave way to a jerk of the door, closet door slamming loudly against the wall. He’s barely able to let out a whimper before he felt himself get grabbed by the collar of his shirt, thrown down onto the floor with a cry of pain.
“The hell were you thinking?! That you could avoid me forever?! What am I supposed to tell all those clients now?! That they won’t get their stuff because your worthless ass got lazy?!”
Even with the injury to his head a year earlier, the volume of his voice still made his ears ring, and the mechanic preemptively covers his face to protect himself as he felt a sharp kick to his back.
“S..stop...p-please...” he began to beg, his crying already starting to get worse, only increasing his father’s rage. It hadn’t been the response he was looking for.
“Excuses won’t buy you anything! LOOK AT ME!”
His hands were ripped away from his face, and his father’s grip was harsh on his right wrist. He struggled, but his old man was always much stronger than him in situations like this...the paralyzing fear had virtually sapped all his strength. It’s moments after that the teenage boy felt another hand around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find the courage to open his eyes.
“.....!” He wanted to plea for him to stop, beg for another chance to make him proud, but can’t physically form the words with the grip around his neck. Panic is absolute, overwhelming and completely dominant to the point where he couldn’t hear his father’s shouts anymore, not until the man leaves him gasping for breath on the floor.
“Get up, you piece of shit...I’ll make sure you learn your lesson this time.”
