#cyj: Kako hen

[ncbodyknows]

過去編「初恋」

{{ November 2012 }}

{ tw: underage drinking, alcohol }

The music around him is heavy, beats feeling like thuds to his ears and body feeling more and more heavy with each beat. The whole world is like a blur to his eyes, but Youngjae knows it’s just a mix of the alcohol and the atmosphere. Had his drink not been in his possession for the entire evening, he might even have suspected foul play and tampering, but honestly speaking he probably just had a bit too much. He shouldn’t technically be able to buy alcohol yet, but he has started at home, moved to a bar affiliated with the family and then onto a club. His young face should have been enough for them to deny him access, but the moment he presents his fake driver’s license, no one seems to care. There are after all a lot of young adults who look very young, so as long as he can just keep up the act, no one knows any better. By now he is so plastered that he can feel the world spinning, but he has no intentions of giving up. Not yet.

It’s still only one in the night after all. He has seen adults partying. Some of the lower ranking members of the family often invite him to sit together with them and drink, and they always make fun of him for falling asleep so early. Say things like how children should keep their bed times. But he’s not a child anymore. He already turned 15 not too long ago, so he hates how they still treat him as a child. That is also partly why he’s out tonight -- although it’s mainly to have fun, he wants to practice. If he can teach his body to not need as much sleep, he’ll be able to party with everyone throughout the night and he won’t get made fun of anymore. 

He has figured that if he just keeps pouring alcohol into his body, his mind might not end up get hit by the wave of exhaustion, but admittedly he doesn’t feel too well right now. Sitting on a bench near the wall, Youngjae’s head rests against the hard surface of the club’s interior, and in his hand a bottle of water is firmly grasped. It’s fine. He just needs a small break and then he can get going again. 

‘Hey kid. You look like shit.’

The voice that calls out to him is deeper than his own, more mature. Youngjae’s own voice has started breaking, it’s getting deeper and deeper, but it still contains a lot of croaks and various other problems that entirely embarrass him when they happen. The guy that sits down next to him is obviously older, obviously fits much better into this scene than he himself does, and perhaps that is why he has chosen to hit up this youngster. See what’s up. Youngjae supposes that while he can lie about his age, his body and appearance betrays him. He simply groans at the comment after looking the other over and lets his head lean back. In no way is he capable of holding a sensible conversation right now. But the guy is not done with him. 

‘It’s been a while since I saw someone so drunk. Are you going to be alright? Need help?’ Youngjae shakes his head at the other’s unwelcome concern. He didn’t ask to be babied by some stranger and neither did he want to. Demonstratively he opens the cap of the bottle and downs half of its content, letting out a loud gasp once he is done. He wipes his mouth to get rid of any drool or water that might be stuck at the corners of his lips. “It’s fine,” he then comments, and truly the world does spin a little less. “It’s just like some weak poison: it’s not gonna kill me but it takes time to get it out of the system.” His comment seems to send the other into thought before the guy twists his body to be as face to face with Youngjae as he can. When had he even sat down next to him? No, why? God, he can’t keep up with anything right now. Tomorrow he is going to regret this so much.

‘A poison, hm?’ the guy comments. A smile spreads on his face, and in that moment Youngjae can only describe it with one word: dangerous. But why was that word what popped into his mind? ‘I see. Well, if it’s poison, don’t they say that you have to suck it out?’ He blinks a few time, confused, not fully understanding what the guy is suggesting and giving an intelligible “huh?” A finger is placed on his lips. ‘You’re pretty cute, you know that?’ the guy continues shamelessly, and Youngjae can feel a slight blush on his cheeks. Cute? Him? No one had ever said that before. He had mixed feeling with the phrasing, for ‘cute’ seemed like such a babying word. Or a word used for girls or something.

Then the dangerous question came and the one that would change Youngjae’s life afterwards. ‘How about it? Want me to suck it out for you?’ the young teen’s eyes turn wide at the suggestion. Did it really mean what he thought it did? His mouth opens only to close again without saying anything, and his eyes seem to shake in confusion. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Then the other breaks into a laughter, unrestrained and attracting attention from the most nearby people. ‘You should see the look on your face, it’s so dumb!’ That’s when Youngjae gets angry. Did this stranger just coming up to him to mock him? If so he wasn’t having any of it. Standing up from his seat, Youngjae for a short bit lost his balance at the sudden rise, and reached out to grab hold of something. That something turned out to be the other’s outstretched hand, and his gaze locked at that foreseeing smirk of his. He quickly withdraws his own hand, now stabilised enough to stand on his own two legs although the world still doesn’t seem to be quite still. 

God. Maybe it was enough practice for tonight. There also had to be a limit to how stubborn one could be. If he had any more, Youngjae feared his next stop might be the toilet, and he didn’t quite want to disgrace himself that far yet. “Ugh...” he lets out a noice and bends his upper body slightly, hand raising to his head. For a moment the other actually seems concerned. ‘Seriously kid, take care of yourself. It won’t look good for me if you faint in my presence. I know I’m handsome, but please don’t fall for me in such a way.’ The other stands up and grabs him by the shoulder as if to stabilise him. ‘Let’s get you home okay? Do you live nearby? Or should I call anyone for you?’ For a moment he thinks as much as he possibly can muster right now. He doesn’t want his mother and father to know about his drinking habits just yet, so the best opportunity would probably be one of the people that usually invite him along. He nods, face paling as he takes out his phone and opens up the contact book, finding one particular number and handing it to the other. Somehow he doubts he’s capable of pulling off a conversation right now. Why was he such an idiot?

When he wakes up the next day, Youngjae isn’t entirely sure how he got back home again. He vaguely remembers another person there with him towards the end, but if that wasn’t enough, the proof remains in his address book: an unfamiliar name linked to an unfamiliar number. Yuta it reads. So that was the guy’s name? How smooth of him to just sneak his contact information into Youngjae’s phone book like that. For a moment he simply sits there, stares at his phone’s screen before opening a text, closing it, only to open it again. Why is he acting like this when all he wants is just to send a message to say thanks? There’s nothing more to it than that. Nothing more. That’s what he tells himself.

After all... there was no way he could be interested in another boy. Absolutely no way.

Of course when the other guys in class talked about hot girls, Youngjae would join in. They have already spent countless of time looking at magazines someone sneaked in, some more exposing than others. He knows for certain that he likes girls so there’s absolutely no way the interest he has in the guy who had helped him out yesterday is anything like that. He’s simply confused -- that’s right, the alcohol had made him confused, incapable of rational thought. Somehow it relieves him to think of it like that, and he is capable of sending the text without much trouble. A very simple message of gratitude, and asking why the other added his number in the first place.

When the answer ‘so we can see each other again’ appears on his screen, Youngjae’s mind blanks.

{{ December 24, 2012 }}

It is cold. Winter is raging on in its fullest and he has seen in the news that Hokkaido is already drowning in snow. Meanwhile Tokyo has only just started getting its first few specks last week, but that doesn’t make the weather less chilly. He’s standing in front of the Hachiko statue in Shibuya, hot coffee in hand and breath visible before him. If he has to be honest with himself he doesn’t really like coffee, but he has found that if it’s sweetened enough he can at least tolerate it. Some might argue that such a thing can no longer be called coffee, but to Youngjae it’s good enough. Anything to make him look more adult. Only grown ups drink coffee after all, so he has to learn it so that guy doesn’t have a reason to call him kid anymore. A bag is dangling from his arm, an object within weighing it down.

He’s been waiting for ten minutes now, but it doesn’t surprise him that the guy he is waiting for is late. Yuta always seems to take things at his own pace, and he supposes he should simply be honoured to be granted time with the other. Somehow it annoys him that he has to think in such a way, but the part of him that is absolutely infatuated with the older boy tells him that it’s okay. That simply seeing and being with Yuta is going to make up for it. It bothers him how taken in he is with the guy, but he also tells himself that it doesn’t matter. And that it’s also Yuta’s fault for being so outspoken and flirty. If he hadn’t been it wasn’t like Youngjae would have fallen for him in the first place.

Then a familiar voice finally calls out to him. ‘Takashi-chan!’ he hears from a bit away, and then as the guy gets closer a ‘sorry I’m late’ follows. Youngjae sticks out his bottom lip in a pout as he looks up at the other, standing taller than him by a good few centimetres. Youngjae has been growing a lot this year, but it’s still not enough to catch up to his senior in life, and it upsets him how the other always seems to use his height to his advantage. The younger of the two crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Didn’t I tell you already? Stop calling me ‘chan’, I’m not a girl.” The complaint is easily disregarded by Yuta who has now noticed the bag he’s carrying. He points. ‘Is that for me? You got me a present didn’t you? As expected! And you even said you wouldn’t get me anything, haha, you’re so cute.’

The frown on his face only seems to deepen at those words and Youngjae turns around and pretends to leave. “As expected I think I won’t give it to you after all. You really don’t know how to appreciate stuff, do you Senpai?” His words are spoken with a huffy tone, but he’s not really that upset. Just a bit. But it satisfies him to see Yuta call out to him in surprise and telling him that he was just kidding, that he shouldn’t walk away, and that he wants the present. Youngjae stops in his tracks and turns to the older. “Hmm, maybe if you give me a kiss I’ll forgive you, senpai,” he teases, but knows by now that the other will not shy away from such a suggestion. It embarrasses him a little to be so blunt, but he wants it and perhaps the spirit of Christmas is making him a bit bolder than usual. As expected the older leans in to lock lips with him, and for a moment Youngjae can feel his heart beat faster until it’s over. 

He’s slightly disappointed with how short it is, but somehow it seems Yuta is always holding back with him. He has seen him kissing other boys, older boys, and he knows that Yuta goes home with some of them. Although he doesn’t know exactly what is going on, he can only do his best guesses. And it hurts. It hurts seeing himself being treated so differently just because he is younger. He wants the long kisses too, the special treatment, the wholehearted affection. But he can’t get it, not yet. Maybe that too is why he can’t wait to grow up. Maybe then Yuta will spend more time with him. Take him away from all the bad stuff that is going on in his life right now.

He is so fed up with everything right now. People avoid him at school and the only people he attract otherwise is bad company that makes his family question him. He tells him that it’s all good, that he has no intention of betraying them and they are just idiots who blindly follow him without realising that he wants nothing to do with them. But he’s tired, tired of the constant doubt and tired of having no one to rely on. He hasn’t seen his brother for several months now either, and the family has officially stated him to be a traitor and to be punished accordingly should he ever be found or return. After going to juvenile prison the relationships between him and the rest of the family had plummeted and that was probably the last straw before the guy had been booted completely. Youngjae didn’t really know all the details and he didn’t want to know either, didn’t want any relation to his brother.

In that sense Yuta is like a sanctuary to him. A place where he can just be normal, with a normal relationship, and, hopefully, eventually a normal boyfriend. But he was never sure of what Yuta was feeling, never sure if he actually liked him back or if he was just in it to playfully tease the younger boy out of his innocence. Youngjae liked to believe he lost that a long time ago, but honestly Yuta affected him in ways he never thought possible, so he supposed the guy had succeeded.

Holding out the present for the other to take, Youngjae stands in anticipation and watches him open it, revealing the box of earrings inside. Seeing the other’s face light up, Youngjae feels both satisfied and happy. “They’re real silver,” he explains although he doubts it would have made a difference. “I thought... I thought they’d suit you so I got them for you.” Yuta holds them up in the light of a street lamp to better see them, not taking them out of the box, careful not to drop them. There are four earrings in total, one pair and two that are different from all of the others. One hand is placed atop his head, ruffling his hair, and Youngjae gives into his touch, head tilting ever so slightly with the movement. Not giving him much time to enjoy the moment, Yuta pulls out a present from his own bag and Youngjae’s eyes widen. It’s certainly much bigger than what he himself gave, but he likes to believe that bigger isn’t necessarily better.

He’s a bit hesitant when he accepts the present, because how is he going to react if it’s something he doesn’t like? They haven’t known each other for that long after all, and he really doesn’t want to disappoint Yuta, especially not when he is looking at him with such an anticipating gaze. He carefully opens the wrapping to spot... a cat plush? Immediately the other interrupts, excitement lighting from both his face and his voice. ‘Isn’t it cute? I saw it and thought of you, and look!’ As he speaks, he points to the collar the cat is wearing. ‘That’s actually a bracelet you can wear whenever you want to think of me. Aren’t I just clever?’ Youngjae blinks a few times, inspecting both plush and bracelet and he isn’t entirely sure what to say. He’s quite honoured that Yuta actually went out of his way to find a plush animal that even reminded him of Youngjae, but... being happy to get a plush animal isn’t very manly and adult.

Removing the collar-bracelet, he puts it on his wrist instead and is surprised to realise that it’s a perfect fit. And it even looks quite good. If anything, the guy definitely has good taste in fashion and accessories. Youngjae can’t help but gasp as he looks at his own outstretched wrist, the slight bit of bare skin showing in between jacket sleeve and glove now donning the bracelet. At his reaction Yuta lets out a chuckle and a satisfied grin spreads on his face. ‘I knew you’d like it. Promise you’ll keep it with you, okay? Even if I’m no longer here.’ Somehow those words sounded so foreboding, and he glanced up at the other with a questioning expression. A laugh escaped the older male, but somehow Youngjae could hear something in that laughter that he couldn’t really place. Something that made him feel discomfort. Yuta went back to ruffling his hair. ‘Never mind that, I was just being dramatic. Happy Christmas Takashi-chan.’

{{ April 2014 }}

It has been weeks now since he has last heard from him. More than a month even. He’s starting to worry so incredibly much, but he’s trying not to panic. Yuta probably has a reason. And he doesn’t want to seem desperate by constantly texting him either. He’s afraid though, afraid that Yuta has finally moved on from him, ditched him from someone better and just doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. Youngjae knows that he’s inadequate: too young, too inexperienced, too everything. But for the past few months he has been living in blissful ignorance, a life that has been so wonderful for once and a huge change to the dread he had been starting to feel throughout the entire school year. Now he had finally graduated junior high and was finally properly on his path to become an adult. He had intended to say it. To tell Yuta how much he means to him regardless of the fear for the other’s answer. He’ll get rejected, he knows that for sure, but if he continues like this without even trying, he might feel like dying from the statement. When he got accepted into high school, his first intention was to have a serious talk with Yuta, but now that it was time, he couldn’t get in touch with the other.

Shall he just let it be and wait for the other to call him back eventually? He wants to trust in the other and believe that perhaps he just has a bit of a tough period, that he hasn’t cut him off entirely on purpose. But he’s scared. He simply can’t help it. Unconsciously he lets the fingers run over the bracelet on his wrist before deciding. And with new determination and a rapidly beating heart, he opens the other’s name in his contact book and presses the call button. It feels like an eternity before he hears a sound, and it’s definitely not what he expected. 

‘The number you dialled is not in use.’

“Eh?” He can’t help but let out the sound with a gasp. Not in use? Well, that does explain why Yuta hasn’t responded to him for a while, but why is it suddenly cut off? Did he get a new number without passing on the information? For a moment he simply sits in his bed, too confused to make sense of anything, but finally he rises. There is only really one thing he can do. Although Youngjae has never let Yuta come to his own house, he has walked with the other to his house plenty of times. For some reason the older has never let him in, but he doesn’t particularly question it much. He simply supposes Yuta has his own secrets and doesn’t want to pressure for an answer. But now is the time.

It takes a while before he’s there, but eventually he stands before the other’s house. Before ringing the doorbell he takes a deep breath to calm down his nerves. Will Yuta get angry with him for intruding upon his family like this? Maybe. But honestly he doesn’t care. He simply wants to see the other right now. But the one who opens isn’t Yuta but rather a middle aged man, and Youngjae’s smile stiffens and vanishes. Ah, this is probably Yuta’s father, he thinks, and when asked what he wants, he asks hesitantly. “Is Yuta home?” It sounds so childish to him, but it’s the only thing he can think to ask about. 

Completely betraying his expectations, the man shakes his head, and what leaves his mouth is even worse. ‘Yuta isn’t here anymore.’ Such simple words spoken with a complete lack of emotion that almost scares Youngjae. He asks where he is then, and the man simply shrugs his shoulders disinterested. ‘I don’t know. He simply took his stuff and disappeared. I don’t think it will do you any good to look for him.’ He doesn’t know what shocks him the most: the news or the fact that they are delivered with such complete indifference? He wants to get angry with the man, but the shock is simply too much, too overpowering for him to feel anything else, so instead he simply gives an “is that so? I see.” Fingers start fumbling with the bracelet again as he watches the door close. With heavy steps and heavy heart, he returns home.

As he sits on his bed again, arms wrapped around the cat plush he received back then, Youngjae is trying to process everything. Yuta is gone and no one knows where he is; and even worse is that he himself is left with such an intense amount of emotions that he has no idea how to get rid of. He hopes it’s a lie, hopes that the other will come back soon with that idiotic smile of his that is so endearing, tell him how much he missed him, ruffle his hair, kiss him...

But Youngjae waits for a month. He comes back to Yuta’s house every so often to hear if there are any news, but eventually stops going. Another month passes and yet another, and Youngjae has to face reality: Yuta is not coming back. He thinks back to that Christmas night, those words Yuta spoke in jest, and suddenly it hits him that he knew all along it was going to turn out like this. It was better if he had simply never fallen for him in the first place, then it wouldn’t hurt like this, then he wouldn’t be left feeling so unresolved. But it did, and even he knew that it was all his own fault. He was the one who went ahead and fell in love. But even though his rational mind says that, his heart was hurt. It hurts so much being left behind and abandoned like that without even a word.

And before he can even control it, that love he felt has turned to intense hatred towards the person who never deserved such emotions. The plush animal and bracelet he treasures so much are tossed out mercilessly, and the memories that are supposed to be full of happiness and warmth are instead converted to stinging knives in his chest every time he thinks about them. He just wants to forget everything. Pretend none of it ever happened.

If he was just going to get his heart broken, why did he have to go ahead and fall in love in the first place?

[ncbodyknows]

過去編「バラバラになった」

{{ April 2012 }}

At school he knows the entrance ceremony is already well underway. With this his final year of junior high has started, and he can’t help but feel a bit better at the thought that all his classmates, no all his school mates, are stuck in that stuffy gymnasium, listening to the principal's speech which has only become more and more boring in the past two years. Youngjae doesn’t for a second doubt that this year beats all records. There might even be fatalities. For a moment he ponders: is it actually possible to die of boredom? But no matter how much he ponders, he won’t know the answer, for he is not personally there.

Using the jacket of his gakuran, he is sitting outside a FamilyMart, lips sucking lazily on the straw of his strawberry milk. He is simply taking in the sun and the sound of traffic going past a few metres ahead of him, enjoying his little urban sanctuary. It is nice to be alone every once in a while, especially for Youngjae who feels as though he is constantly surrounded by people. It won’t last long, he knows that, because it’s only a matter of time before they find him again. If anything else he should probably be going to school: his attendance hasn’t been good in the past couple of months, and if it keeps up he will probably risk expulsion. All the better, he thinks, for they’re probably just looking for a reason to get rid of him anyway. No one wants him there after all, not him, not his classmates, not the teachers and the school staff. 

‘Ah, there he is!’ He hears their voices before he sees them and closes his eyes to uphold the pretense of solitude for just a bit longer. ‘Why do you always pull shit like this, boss? We’ve been looking for you for an hour.’ Youngjae simply gives a groan in response, partly at the fact that he can’t simply pass off their presence as an illusion and partly because of what they call him. He puts down his milk carton and rises from the ground, taking his time to dust off his jacket and putting it on. Expression obviously annoyed, he finally speaks.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” he begins, not bothering to give them an answer to their complaints. “I’m not your boss and you’re not my underlings and there is no gang. How many fucking times do I have to repeat myself?” It’s getting tiresome, because despite their nods, despite their affirmative words, Youngjae knows that his complaints just go in one ear and out of the other. They willingly choose to ignore the situation that isn’t favourable to them. It isn’t like they consider him a boss or have any loyalty towards him if push comes to shove anyway, he already knows that, and he isn’t interested in starting his own faction either. Such would simply be treaty to his own family. The shitheads who can’t even see that much, don’t deserve to be introduced to the underground world. They won’t last long anyway, so in that sense Youngjae is doing them a big service. This side of the world isn’t as kind and forgiving as these wannabe yankees who are just mad at the world seem to believe.

With a sigh he starts waking, and as though they are small puppies on a leash, the rest of the boys follow along. This only serves to irk him even further. “Aren’t you guys in high school by now anyway?” he comments, looking over his shoulder to the nearest guy, the one who has unofficially announced himself to be Youngjae’s right hand. A big guy with lots of muscle compensating for his lack of brain. He has simply threatened the others into submission, and that disgusts Youngjae more than anything else about this whole thing. A guy like that wouldn’t function in any other role than a debt collector. He can’t even be used for persuading people to loosen their tongues and give information for the idiot would probably kill his victim before anything was revealed. To think that a person like that is aiming for a position of power is ridiculous. “Don’t you all have anything better to do than follow some random junior high kid around? It’s not like I’m actually ordering you to do anything, it must be boring as fuck.”

He had hoped so much that it would be over once those guys graduated, but of course they had picked a high school close to his middle school. Of course. But it will be fine, just one more year of them running around behind him like headless chickens and then he can go to a school far away, outside of Roppongi, in a place where no one knows him. One more year and then everything will be perfect again.

‘Wait! Wait please! Yamauchi-senpai!’

It is a full week into the new school year and he has finally bothered coming to school. The voice calling out to him makes Youngjae turn his body, looking for the source, and the moment he sees a small kid with his hair bleached his expression sours. It’s only far too stereotypical and he wants to ram his head repeatedly into a wall at the idiocy of the people he attracts. No, maybe he is the idiot for not looking for a school with hair colour regulations. When will these idiots learn that standing out is the last thing you want to do? If your appearance screams thug or social outcast then it will be impossible to gain what you want to. Every single scammer he personally knows looks painfully average, has a sweet smile and words just as sweet. He has already begun his own training: there are ways a kid can be used to trick others that adults would never be capable of after all, so he has quite a bit of value as he is right now.

‘You’re Yamauchi Takashi-senpai, aren’t you?’ the kid continues. Everything about him, his size, his baby face, everything, makes it obvious that this boy is fresh out of elementary school. Youngjae remembers how big he felt when he was in sixth grade and how small he suddenly was in the first year of junior high. Now he is one of the big kids again and a freshman seems so incredibly small to him. “What about it?” he comments with indifference although he already knows what the kid wants. He should have expected it the moment someone called out to him. No one does so without that being the reason.

‘It’s true that you’re part of a yakuza syndicate, right? I picked this school just to go to the same school as you senpai!’

Bingo. Just as fucking expected. How do even random kids from elementary schools know about him now? Certainly he has heard rumours flocking around when people think he isn’t listening, and he hasn’t even done half of the shit they come up with. Even fighting is very limited nowadays compared to the wild kid he had been in his elementary school days. Of course other people don’t seem to realise that and often try to pick fights with him, and it’s at times like these Youngjae appreciates everything his master has taught him. He only really takes his knowledge in martial arts seriously when tossing people left and right to immobilise them before they could beat him up. His master is often upset with him for not putting the same energy into his training, but as long as Youngjae is uninterested, he simply can’t be bothered to put in an effort.

“It’s true,” he simply confirms, no reason to hide it. Even if he tried to lie his way through it, he doubts that the kid will believe anything but the idea about him he has in his head. How bothersome. Even more bothersome is it to see the kid’s face light up as though it’s Christmas eve. What kind of aspiring gangster walks around with such a ridiculous expression on his face? Before the other can even begin to voice his request, Youngjae holds out his bag. “Carry this to my classroom.” His demand seems to come as a surprise to the brat who simply stands opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, hesitantly reaching out for the bag. His expression very clearly asks the question of why, and Youngjae gives him that smile he has practiced to lure in people, make them warm up to him and perform even his unreasonable requests. “The most important part of being a yakuza is being able to follow orders. I’ll have to test you first. If you can’t perform even simple tasks like this, there’s no way I can take you in.”

If he can keep this up for just one year, one year of ordering the kid around like a slave, then he can be free without any more people believing themselves to be his underlings.

Just one more year...

[ncbodyknows]

過去編「子供の時間」

{{ August 2007 }}

“Eh, really? Our birthdays are less than a month apart! That’s so cool!”

Youngjae is sitting on the swing, fingers uphold as he has just been using them to count the days: 25 exactly. The other kid is new in the flock -- a boy who has just moved to Tokyo all the way from Sapporo. His name is Naota and ever since he joined the class Youngjae has thought of him as a nerdy four eyes. But after Naota calmly dissected a frog in their science class, his opinion of him has changed somewhat, and now he can’t help but be interested in the other. At first the rest of the gang were warning him -- “don’t do it, he might have girl’s cooties!” -- but after he beat up a few of them the rest were quiet. At least he should commend them: they were concerned for their leader. But if he says that Naota deserves a chance then he deserves a chance. 

‘Yeah! Mine is next week so that’s why you should definitely come, Takashi! I can show you my beyblade collection!’

As expected the guy is totally a nerd, and Youngjae appreciates that no one else is there at the time. He might as well dig himself a hole and bury himself in shame if the others didn’t immediately hear him ask what a beyblade was. But he knows. He hasn’t spent hours glued in front of the tv screen for nothing. But it is his hidden side and no one should ever learn about it, not even Naota no matter how much he wants to see the collection. His own parents think it’s garbage and say that he will grow out of it quick, so they might as well not spend money on it. But they do spend money on the sketchbooks, and somehow his mother still supports all the drawings he makes -- of characters, of monsters, of machinery; he is not equally good at everything, but she says it’s okay. She says that he’ll get there eventually if he just keeps practising.

He is already far better than his peers, and he suspects that Nomura-sensei, the old hag who teaches art in his school has already noticed it even though he tries to make himself worse than he is. Painting is not cool after all. Climbing trees is cool and being able to hold your ground in a fight against the middle school freshmen from the next school over is cool. But every time he comes home with bruises his master hits him on the cheek, always the right cheek, and tells him that budou is not for picking petty fights. And then he is banned from training for a week. It’s always the same and he never learns and honestly he doesn’t care.

“I... I don’t know what beyblade is or anything, idiot...” he lies with his eyes falling upon the ground next to him. And then he crosses his arms and lets out a small huff. “But if you insist I guess I can ask my parents to let me go! But only if you promise to come to my birthday too!” Although he pretends to be self assured, the demand makes Youngjae nervous with anticipation. He doesn’t usually have classmates come by for special occasions, not even to hang out and play video games or anything at all. Only his family is ever in the house. It isn’t that he doesn’t like them -- he loved his big, crooked, caring, boisterous family more than anything else on the planet -- but it sometimes gets a bit lonely.

His face lights up in unfiltered excitement as Naota accepts the deal. And then a blush makes it to his cheeks, and he turns around quickly so the other can’t notice it. “You better not go back on your promise! Real friends keep their promises so I won’t ever think of you as a friend if you break it. Got it?” Naota nods with a laugh, and they spend the next hour competing over who can jump the longest from the swings.

‘I’m really sorry Takashi... my mum says you can’t come to my birthday party.’

He should have expected the words, but they still hit him like a brick. Perhaps he thought that things might be different because Naota wasn’t a local. Youngjae pretends that he doesn’t know, but it’s impossible not to figure it out when people reject him over and over. He doesn’t even try to pretend to be hopeful and ask about his own party, because he already knows the answer. He is just too different from the others. “Fine then!” he yells voice cracking to betray his sadness. “We’re just not friends anymore then!” It’s not like he cared anyway. It’s not like he wanted to see that collection and what other cool things Naota had and play with them and eat cake. It’s not like he has already made the other a present, a painting, as his parents don’t give him allowance. 

He runs off, not looking back for one second, and the moment he reaches home, he starts hitting one of the bodyguards in the stomach. His fists are weak and shaky. Before long he is picked up with a sigh, and carrying him under his arm, the body guard brings him to his fathers office. ‘Yamauchi!’ he scolds. ‘Your kid’s at it again.’ As he realises this is a dead end, he stops struggling in the man’s grasp -- although the man is much stronger than him, Youngjae has given him a hard time by wriggling around in his arms, punching and kicking. Now he is just hanging limply until he is put down. The man disappears again, leaving father and son alone. Silence follows. An intense and uncomfortable silence as his dad doesn’t even look up from the papers for a few minutes until he reaches a good halting point.

‘Takashi’ he calls, and Youngjae shudders under the scolding tone he can hear in simply the calling of his name. He is biting his bottom lip to choke back the tears that threaten to fall, for he knows that he messed up. Again. This is different from when his master punishes him. There are only three people in the world he does not wish to disappoint by any means: the oyabun, his mother and his father. The oyabun is too scary and Youngjae rarely has anything to do with him if it can be helped; he can’t handle his mother’s disapproving look at him. But his father... His father gives him a look almost as though it is expected. And Youngjae doesn’t like that one bit. He thinks of his brother who hasn’t been home for the past week now. Last time he was at the house wasn’t pretty either: Youngjae isn’t entirely sure what happened, but he heard the yells, the sound of someone getting beaten up, and he saw his brother’s face beaten to a pulp. 

There is only one word he can think of: disgust. He hates his brother. Hates the person who is tarnishing the family in such a way for his own selfish rebellion. Who doesn’t give a damn about values and who goes about his own business. It is not so much the fear that he should be beaten up as well should he go against the family although it does scare him to think about. No. Youngjae simply doesn’t wish to be likened to him. So his father looking at him with such a gaze feels like a dagger in his chest, and the child shuffles uncomfortably on the ground before mumbling a single word: “sorry...”

‘What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.’

Youngjae flinches, but then looks his dad into the eyes as he repeats in a louder and clearer voice: “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” The only problem is just that he said the exact same thing last time and last time again, and they both know this. His father sighs and rises from the chair before closing the distance between them. Putting a large hand upon his head, he starts patting the boy.

‘What happened this time? Did you try to invite someone over again?’ Choking on his breath Youngjae nods, rendered immobilised at his father’s touch. He just wants to burst into tears and hug the man, but he can’t. He’s a cool kid and that wouldn’t be cool at all. So instead he bites harder down on his lips. “It’s just so unfair that everyone else gets to hang out, but I’m the only one who can’t play with anyone.” His father smiles helplessly. ‘Well it’s not that you can’t but... I just wish for you that adults could see you for who you are rather than who your family is. Children don’t have the same harsh filter, do they?’ Youngjae shakes his head without a word. This time his father pulls him into an embrace, and he stands still for a second before raising his arms to return it. ‘Oh, Takashi. I hope you will understand one day. But until then remember to treasure your friends a lot, because I know you have them. It wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t.’

He can feel a single tear run down his cheek and buries his face in his father’s shoulder. 

[ncbodyknows]

過去編「乱気流」

{{ January 2016 }}

{ Tw: violence, guns, blood, death, drug mentions }

The snow is falling quietly in the dark winter night that spreads across Yokohama. Youngjae is standing outside the warehouse, shuddering underneath his thick winter coat, breath escaping from his mouth as white clouds in the dark until they dissipate entirely. It is far too cold and far too late to be out and about, and if he could choose himself, he would much rather have stayed home in his nice warm bed and get a good night of sleep. But his family doesn’t care that he has classes in the morning -- when duty calls, it calls, and specially someone like him who is in training can’t just easily skip no matter how much he wants to. 

It’s okay though. Youngjae knows that it’s only a matter of time before he can be free. He has already made the plans for skipping the country the moment he graduates, not leaving a trace behind. Has already received his letter of acceptance at K-ARTS. Has already paid the deposit for taking over an apartment in Yongsan-gu in Seoul. The last couple of months have been stressful and full of work, but they have also caused him to be seen in a better light by the higher ups, and now he’s even considered a promising and far more influential young man than he was just half a year ago. His father is proud of him. But Youngjae knows that it’s just because his own social standing in the family rises with his son’s accomplishments. Neither of his parents actually give a fuck about him and what he wants to do and only accept him when he can make them look better.

He’s tired. So fucking tired.

‘Yamauchi? Are you okay?’ The voice calls out to him in questioning concern, and Youngjae flashes a warm smile at the other in reassurance. “Everything is fine, aniki. I just got a bit cold and started spacing out.” Satisfied with the explanation, the guy places a hand upon Youngjae’s head and starts ruffling his hair briefly. A gesture from an older brother figure, he assumes, his partner in crime who just wants to ease up the younger and more inexperienced cog in the machine. But said cog can’t help but want to knock the other’s hand away and tell him to get the fuck away from him. Alas, he holds it in. He’s become good at keeping his real thoughts in check, well knowing that it would only expose him. He doesn’t mind putting aside himself, or even his humanity, if it’s for the sake of assuring his happiness in the future.

Today’s mission however unsettles him. Some idiot from another family has been selling drugs in their areas, and to not cause unnecessary bad blood between the two organisations, the guy has been sold out to them for them to do whatever they wish to with him. The order is very clear: execution. Being a nuisance and going behind your family’s back only has one way to describe it: treachery. And while such is not always punishable by death, Youngjae supposes that this guy is going to serve as an example. The other organisation is a smaller one that simply can’t afford to get into a war, and especially not with a unit as influential as the family Youngjae belongs to, so he is pretty sure that it’s supposed to be a warning to others not to be an idiot.

In essence he completely understands it. That’s just how things work. What unsettles him is the fact that he has to get involved with it.

When his partner speaks again, it is to inform him that they should get going. The other seems just as wound up as Youngjae does, but probably more because he’s nervous on his behalf. As of now he still has yet to receive a formal role within the organisation. They are sending him out in different jobs to see what he can be used for, but so far he has mostly been dealing in scamming in the streets of Roppongi. He is pretty damned good at that, and his endeavours plus slight embezzlement with the funds has paid off his future plans. Hopefully by the time anyone noticed something was wrong, he would already be long gone. There was a fear of getting discovered though, but if he does, he simply figures it was meant to be. He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t have any strong attachment to life either, and he supposes it would just mean someone else would perform the duty he himself was too scared to do.

The warehouse isn’t much warmer inside than its exterior counterpart, and Youngjae shudders again, although he isn’t sure whether it’s from the cold or from looking at the person laying limply inside. His face and body are swollen from the fury unleashed upon him, but the yakuza-in-training assumes it’s more to give him a false sense of hope before his inevitable demise. There is literally no point in beating him up other than humiliating him and making him miserable first. Make his last few hours on the planet as suffering as possible. Youngjae glances down upon him, face twisted in disgust, although he doesn’t know if it’s at the man himself or the circumstances.

Before finding himself in a situation like this, Youngjae would have proudly proclaimed himself easily capable of pulling the trigger. He doesn’t care one bit about the lives of other people, and won’t hesitate for a second to toss them away for his own gains. But now that he actually stands here and pulls his gun from its holster inside of his jacket, reality seems much more imposing on him than he could ever have imagined. When he had been told to go, Youngjae had immediately known that it would be a test of his limitations. He knows what he must do.

The guy on the ground finally looks up, gaze first exhausted and full of hatred as he expects another round, then eyes turning wide with terror once his glance falls upon the contraption in Youngjae’s hand. But he doesn’t have much time to face his fear head on before the young man kicks his shoulder to roll him onto his stomach and then places a foot heavily upon his back to pin him down. If he’s really going to do this, he doesn’t want to look at the other’s face in the meanwhile. But a voice behind him has other plans.

‘Turn him around.’ Calm, composed and sending a chill down Youngjae’s spine. It is not his partner, but he already knew there were going to be other higher ups around to observe him and act accordingly if something went wrong. His heart practically drops to his stomach at the command, but he should have seen it coming that he wasn’t going to be let off so easily. ‘Look him into his eyes while you kill him.’ He swallows hard, but removes the foot nonetheless, and the person beneath him is completely still now, not even daring to struggle as Youngjae uses his foot to turn him back around. His face is frozen in fear and the realisation that there is absolutely nothing he can do right now. He is tied up, and even if he wasn’t, it looks like several of his bones are broken and would have hindered him from running away.

But somehow the look on that face seems begging. Of course it would be, he thinks to himself and huffs a little at his own idiocy. The fewest people would look their coming assailant straight in the eyes and put on a mask of bravado. His head turns automatically, but he is immediately lectured again. ‘Don’t look away. You’re likely to miss if you do.’ His partner is standing right behind him, seemingly shuffling nervously. ‘It’ll be fine Yamauchi,’ he assures him. ‘Just think of it like target practice. You’re pretty good at that.’

His expression hardens with those words. Does a human life really mean that little? Will his own be cast away just as easily if they figure out he is stealing money and planning on jumping ship? No, honestly he probably wouldn’t get off this easy. He’s never tried it himself, but he’s observed a torture specialist demonstrating his techniques on a dummy and explaining carefully what each step did to the human body and how you could best inflict as much pain on a person as possible while still keeping them alive. It makes him sick to his stomach to think about, but it’s probably more in a place like that he’s going to end up should he be discovered. This whole thing is merciful in comparison.

He steadies his hand and aims it straight at the other’s head. His own eyes are staring straight at the guy’s expression of fear, and eventually of resignation, observing every little sweat drop, every little deformation and imperfection and then running to his eyes that are locked upon the muzzle of the blank gun. Despite his rational mind, Youngjae’s heart is hammering faster and faster in his chest and he curses himself for being so weak. Logically speaking it shouldn’t be hard to take someone’s life, but now that he stands here it feels too real in his mind. He’s already just a common criminal, has already done enough to get him locked up for a time should it get discovered by the authorities, but somehow this is on a different scale.

Everything he has done until now has been for his own personal gain, but there is absolutely nothing in it for him this time. Should he really pull the trigger now there would be no going back. He wouldn’t just be a criminal -- he would be a murderer. He would no longer be a common, functional human being with just a bit of a bad track record, he would outright be a scum of society, an outcast. And although he thought himself ready to cast away his humanity no matter what, he isn’t sure he wants to take that step. No, he isn’t sure he can take that step.

‘What’s it going to be Yamauchi? We don’t have all night you know.’ The pressure from the voice isn’t exactly helping either and Youngjae is gritting both his teeth and his grasp around the handle, his finger shaking upon the trigger. Safety has already been disarmed so it really is just one small push and then...... A sigh leaves him as he has to admit defeat.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

Not a single emotion betrays the senior’s face as he nods his head in acknowledgement. Youngjae can see the person on the ground regaining hope at his declaration of inability, but the moment he hears his partner’s name called out, Youngjae knows that it’s coming. And not a moment sooner does a gunshot resound within the barren warehouse and the body beneath his shoe goes limp. “Ah.” A hand is placed upon his shoulder, but that’s not why he lets out a sound. Some of the blood has splattered upon his shoes and trousers. His mind blanking, he can only think of one thing: I liked those shoes...