#he doesn’t have a mustache those are like the heat pits that snakes have

[dustlicious]

Someone tell me why this guy is my favorite Ok Ko character???

I made him based on a black mamba

[cesabutterflywrites]

The Duke of the Bay: Part 7

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First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part 

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings:  cigarettes, drinking excessively

Chapter Word Count:   3457

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

-

Virgil didn’t want to leave the group behind at Logan’s house, but he knew he had to. It was the safest option. It was more important at that moment for the three of them to have their talks on how to move forward. The less he knew, the better. Even if it hurt to be so far away from his…from Logan.

 Now that he had a moment to himself, walking among the warehouses at nighttime, he was finally free to think about the night before. Had it only been less than a day since he knew he’d have to betray his family? 

 He knew when he took up the job tailing Logan that he was in over his head. He wasn’t expecting that to be how he paid his debts. He made a point not to get too involved in family affairs- it was too much risky work-but he owed some money to his cousin after losing a game of poker. 

 Best loss in his life, and he didn’t say so often. 

As he paced the streets, waiting for Mr. Doris, he remembered with vivid pleasure the events of the evening before. When he finally got Logan to crack and kiss him in a way he had never been kissed. 

 Man, Pat and Alice were sure in for it. Lord knows how Logan was able to keep his cool for this long. Virge had gotten the sense that Alice had figured something was amiss, though. Dame in her situation, it made sense for her to be perceptive. Virgil briefly thought of what it would look like- a small girl pinning tall Logan to the wall demanding to know if he let his hair down. 

 He sighed, watching his breath leave his mouth in a gray mist akin to cigarette smoke. The world wasn’t ready for people like them. He knew that. Part of the reason he stayed on the low was for that reason. If the world was going to hate him, let them hate him for good reasons. Let it hate him for his failures, for his crimes, for the pain he caused people. He wished that the world wouldn’t hate him for finally being comfortable with the idea of falling in love. 

 He had considered moving to Harlem. Now that was a scene. There were stories he’d heard of women on the arms of other women freely. There were men in dresses and women in slacks. There were women who were as burly as men and men as puny as gals. There was music, freedom, a community and safe haven. He had saved up nearly enough to go east to that scene when he had been relocated to help his cousin get a foothold in the west. 

 He felt bummed out for so long, but he felt glad that he got Logan out of the whole ordeal. 

 Scenes of the night before flooded his mind’s eye. Hot skin pressed up against each other. Tightness and heat and primal instinct and sweat and all things he was familiar with, but none of it had felt...like that. Like the grip of a cuddle afterwards. The warmth of a person’s hand twirling his hair. The soft urge to plant kisses on Logan’s face afterwards to care for him. The whispered laughter in between afterglow kisses. 

 A part of him wanted to take Logan there. Logan, in a place like Harlem? It’d be worth it just for the surprise on his prude, puckered face. 

 He took out a cigarette to shift his focus from the forbidden thoughts once he heard the footsteps. He inhaled the smoke with ease when he caught the silver flash of a scar with a face forming behind it from the shadows. 

 “Hello, Virgil. How was your day?” Smooth of voice as ever. Slick like fine whiskey, and every bit of a snake’s hypnotic charm in those eyes. 

 Virgil ignored that. He took a drag from his cigarette to give himself time to form an answer. Finally, he curtly replied, “Same old. Detective Dolt is still on that blessed routine of his. Swear, the guy never steps a foot outta line.” 

 “Right,” the word drew out.  Mr. Doris squinted at him. The man who had taken Virgil’s place in the family business always glared at him with suspicion. Now, without knowing it, he had good reason to. 

 “You?” Virgil asked, trying to hold back a cough. He had to keep it cool. He held out his pack to the scarred man, a peace offering from his earlier brusque behavior that morning. 

 Mr. Doris waved it off. He turned his nose up to examine his shoulder, evidently finding some invisible lint. “I had other matters to attend to, I haven’t been able to find my target. Was he with yours?” 

 Ashes from his cigarette sprinkled slowly to the ground. “Nope, though doesn’t mean he didn’t call or something.” 

 “I see. Was there a girl there?” Mr. Doris inquired, his tone too innocent for his normally vicious demeanor. 

 “What, that broad you were supposed to toss into a river?” Virgil tried to shove out the image of Alice’s eyes-too old for her young face. 

 Mr. Doris growled, “Don’t play games with me, punk,” Virgil tensed at the word, “I am not as easy to forget as the boss, and I need a good reason to give a good lickin’ to someone.” 

 “Well, I’m afraid that isn’t possible, boys.” The Duke stated. Neither of them had heard him approach.

 “Boss, good to see you as always,” Virgil greeted coolly. He took another drag of his cigarette. The smoke soothed his nerves from the inquisition from his ‘coworker’ .

 “Virge, how often do I need to tell you not to be so formal with me? We’re family, after all.” The Duke’s smile was akin to a stray cat finding fresh steak. So, perfectly normal. For him.

 “Right, sorry cuz,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like they were close enough to be brothers. 

 The Duke looked between the men suspiciously. “What aren’t you boys telling me?” 

 “Doris lost the broad and the cop, in the same day.” Virgil confessed quickly, all too aware of his companions low hiss in his direction

 “Yes, I know that already, what else?” the man whined, petulance coloring his tone.

 Virgil’s eyes tightened. He got the strange feeling that his cousin knew more than he was letting on. Still, he played his part with ease. “She wasn’t with Smith, if that’s what you were wondering.” 

 “Oh really? Strange, she wasn’t with my dear detective either,” his cousin mused, twirling his mustache.  

 Mr. Doris’ back straightened. Virgil sensed that there was more to the situation than what was being led on. He catalogued that reaction to build off of later. Something about Patton was causing...something of a rift, between them. It wasn’t like Virgil cared, Doris had it coming for some time. 

 “Well, maybe they got her in a safe house or like, ya know, with another cop?” Virgil suggested. He wanted to get them off of the young lady’s trail. 

 “No, the captain said he had to suspend detective Smith. They’re onto him. There’s no way they’d bring another man in on this.” Mr. Doris was still bothered. Alice was his mark, so of course he was willing to do anything to get her back. 

 The Duke looked at Virgil. “Unless, of course, one of us were lying.” 

 Mr. Doris lifted his eyebrow. Sure, he wasn’t completely sure how loyal Virgil was, but it wouldn’t be like him to get involved enough to cause any harm. Once again, Mr. Doris toyed with the thought of having a tail put on Virgil as well. 

 Virgil felt stones fall in his stomach. Sweat started to build on his brows. He threw his cigarette down to the ground to put it out. “Or, maybe they have a friend. Maybe they left her at one of their  houses.”

 “You just said Logan was at his house earlier.” Mr. Doris stepped closer. His eyes were in slits, it was hard to see even the whites of his eyes, making him look even more like a snake. 

 Mr. Doris had the sudden suspicion that maybe he underestimated the reclusive  man, after all. 

 “I-” Virgil cleared his throat, “I know that. I just meant that maybe we don’t know enough to assume.” 

 “Right,” his cousin surmised. He looked Virgil up and down, as if looking for something. Virgil tried to appear as calm as he could. Whatever the Duke was looking for, he seemed satisfied. 

 Virgil let out a breath quietly when Mr. Doris had the attention of the boss. That was close, he thought to himself. 

 “Mr. Doris, darling, I need you to find her. You have three days. Have Virgil help, and I’ll have Roman let me know if he hears anything about her.” The Duke seemed satisfied with that conclusion, then he added to Virgil, “Take advantage of Mr. Smith being suspended. Find out what you can. Double your watch hours. Only report in if there’s any important development.

 “I’m bored, let’s go down to the Lion’s Den for some refreshments.” The Duke clapped his palms together, signaling the end of the business portion of their meeting.

 Virgil’s nod was curt. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he refused to let it take control as he agreed to join the gentleman for drinks at their speakeasy nearby. 

 The joint was in full swing when they arrived, fashionably late. The men and women who were outcasts, dennigans, drunks, and harlots all danced around as if there wasn’t a care in the world. The dresses were skin tight, and Virgil caught the glitter of cufflinks-obviously from some notable men in their local government. A few of them he had remembered meeting in a dark alley for a kiss or two. 

 The men made their way to a back table just behind the stage. Where they could still hear the music, but didn’t have to be bothered with the usual social engagements. It was dark, it was secluded, it was perfect for gentlemen like them.  

 The waiter that came up to them was nervous. Seemed like he didn’t have much experience directly interacting with the boss. He swallowed, trying not to stutter, and looked a little too green in the face. He took their orders bravely, then scurried away. Virgil pitied the poor boy.

 Virgil made sure to be careful with the giggle water, he couldn’t afford to have loose lips. He made sure to take sips while his companions loosened up. 

 Soon afterwards, Mr. Doris left them to go home, claiming he needed some shut eye before beginning his search the next day. He looked a little too pointedly at Virgil as he said so. 

 The Duke poured himself some more bourbon, giggling. Now was Virgil’s chance to ask for some information. 

 “So, cousin, tell me about this ‘dear detective’. What makes him so dear if he’s the enemy?” 

 “Oh, I don’t know.” the drunk man hedged. He took down the entire glass of the fiery liquid painlessly. 

 Virgil grabbed the bottle to pour more for him. He kept his voice casual, and even spared a fake grin to give off the illusion of camaraderie. He patted his cousin’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s me. I’m only curious.” 

 “Well,” the Duke drew out. He creased his eyebrows in drunken deliberation. “I think I want to shoot him, then the next I want to kiss him, and somewhere….somewhere in between he makes me soft.

 Virgil, you ever think about quitting this lifestyle?” 

 Virgil’s eyes hardened but he forced his short laughter, “No, we live like Kings.” 

 Remus pouted, holding out his glass for more. Virgil poured while he talked. “I think I wanna…” he took his drink, “I think I wanna fuck a cop.” 

 Virgil snickered. He knew the feeling all too well. “Well, good luck with that. You’re on every wanted list from here to Sacramento.” 

 His cousin’s laughter bellowed through the space. “Yes, only as the Duke. Never as Remus…” 

 Virgil instinctively looked over his shoulder. “Don’t say that name here. Do you want to get caught?” 

 The Duke, Remus, lifted his arms up and shouted, “I’m Remus! Remus damn d-” the rest of his words were muffled from Virgil’s hand. 

 It was a long night for them both. Quickly did the bottle run dry. Quickly did another one come. Virgil and Remus spent the night drinking more than talking, mostly due to Remus slurring so bad he was incomprehensible. Though most of his coherent speech was addled with talks about his feelings for Patton, the ‘dear detective’, and the shipment that had come in the night before. 

 “Virge, do you know what I got for us?” Remus stage whispered in his ear. His mustache tickled Virgil’s earlobe, causing him to shiver. 

 “Yeah, boss,” Virgil gulped. “I know about last night at the docks.” 

 “Good,” Remus took a large swig of his drink, “Let’s hope I get to kill the Irish bastard. Here’s to a good business!” 

 Virgil toasted, and took another sip of his drink. Remus became even more incomprehensible, to the point Virgil decided he was cutting him off. He took his cousin home, then collapsed in his own bed where he slept fitfully-with dreams of a teenage girl drenched in her own blood. 

--------------

 “Dammit, Logan! What the hell were you thinking?” Patton bellowed. He didn’t seem to care that Alice was in the room with them. 

 His eyes were wild with a fury that Logan had never seen before. His hair, once in small curls was now wildly untamed. Logan felt the words slam him hard, but he took a small comfort in knowing that it was the Duke that had upset Patton. 

 The man before him wasn’t this partner. This wasn’t the gentle, giant, Irishman who always had a smile to give. This wasn’t that smooth-talking detective that handled each case with compassion. This wasn't the man who earned the tip of a hat and a gaze of a gal.

 This was a man who had gone mad with the chase. 

 Logan had to do something, but he didn’t know what. He felt at a loss for words. He just let Patton beat into him more with every phrase. His best friend, his partner, was finally losing it. 

 “You just jeopardized our case! You had an informant. Not only an informant, the very gangster who was hired to tail you for a month. What the hell?!” Patton’s fists were clenched. Logan wondered if he was gonna take a swing. He wouldn't have put it past the man, at this point.

 Logan put his hands out, a gesture of peace. “Patton,” he kept his voice even, “We need to think rationally. We have a-” 

 “Rationally? Ya think the God damn Duke is rational? He’s a madman, Logan! And I have half a mind to think that you’re in kahoots with him!” Patton’s voice was hysterical, and his usually tame Irish accent was in full force. It was a miracle he wasn't spewing heavy profanities left and right. 

 Patton’s heart was pounding, no doubt his blood pressure was through the rood. His mind was swirling with angry, dark thoughts he had never considered before. He wanted to punch Logan. He wanted to cry. He wanted to be left alone to crumble. He felt like his very skin was melting underneath the wrath that was striking his soul.  He ignored the concerned looks Alice was throwing his way from the couch. 

 “Patton, please, I-” Logan tried to beg. 

 Logan clenched his fists too. He didn’t want to fight Patton, but the man needed some sense knocked into him. The air in the living room was thick with the heat of anger. Logan’s heart was breaking for his friend, and in the back of his mind he wondered if Mr. Doris had been right about the Duke and his raging partner. He wondered if maybe the Duke got his hooks deeper than a cat and mouse game.

 “No, Logan!” Patton was red in the face, he looked like he was about to burst into flames. “You made an impulsive, stupid, awful decision and-” 

 “At least I’m not the one turning into a madman!” Logan yelled back. He grabbed Patton by his shoulders. “Damn it, Patton! Don’t you get it? You’re playing right into his hand. He wants you riled up so you can’t think straight!” 

 Patton sucked in a breath, but Logan continued. “You think I haven’t noticed a change in you? Patton, you’ve been barely sleeping. You’re crazy if you think that I’m the one not thinking straight!” 

 Logan suddenly embraced Patton. Both of them were sweaty from the day, but neither of them cared. He felt Patton nearly collapse in his arms, and soon he felt his best friend sobbing into his shoulder. The pressure released from his lungs. In his arms was a tired, beaten, angry man. 

 “I’m sorry Logan. You’re right I’m not...I’m not keeping my cool.” Patton pulled away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face down. 

 He felt embarrassed, and looked next to him to see Alice giving him a watery smile. His mind was starting to clear. He remembered that his first duty was to the people, and right now he had to take care of a young dame that made her way quickly into his heart. 

 They stood in silence, the air around them dissipated of tension. Soon, they were both being embraced by the small frame of Alice. Something about the moment felt right. Logan closed his eyes. They all took in a deep breath. Together.

 Alice broke the hug to embrace just Patton. She whispered something in his ear, “You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, we’ve all got a bit of crazy.” They both giggled, which was a wonderful sound of chimes and bells. 

 Logan brushed off his shirt reflexively. “Now, I believe talk of the next step can wait. We all need rest. Especially you, Patton.” 

 Alice and Logan bid their farewells to Patton, and soon Alice retired to her new room. The lights were put out. Once some time had passed, Logan retreated to the basement of his manor that he had made his art room. 

 The smell of linseed oil filled his nostrils. He turned on the lights, and set up his paints and easel. His fingers ached, and so did his back, but he needed the mind numbing feeling of color being placed on canvas. He needed to create. He sat at his stool, and summoned a vision in his mind’s eye of what he wanted to paint. 

 He took his palette knife and made himself a beautiful green. He dipped his brush, and started spreading his brush along the canvas. He felt his shoulders relax from making the scenery. Greens and blues made their way into the scene, with spots of black and gray. Logan bit his lip as he focused on the finer details. 

 He ruminated over the events of the past twenty-four hours. He had made a lover, of sorts. He rescued a young girl from a mob boss. He found out his captain was most likely part of a conspiracy to poison the force, resulting in his suspension. His partner finally snapped. He had a sixteen year old girl temporarily living in his house that had been empty for so long.  

 He dipped the point of his fine brush into the white, and carefully laid his details out onto the waves that had formed on his canvas. He was so focused on his  scene, that he hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of small feet making their way down the steps. 

 Luckily his brush wasn’t on the painting when he jumped from Alice’s voice saying in his ear, “So it’s you that’s filled this house with art.” 

 His heart pounded in his chest from the surprise, and his cheeks reddened from the embarrassment of having his secret caught. He watched Alice slowly walk around the room, taking in the different scenes he had painted before. 

 “Logan, these are beautiful.” she whispered. “If I had money, I’d buy them.” 

 “I, well, um…” Logan stuttered. He was tired, after all. Plus having this young girl comment on his paintings felt oddly relieving. He took a deep breath to gather his words. “I have been painting since I was a child.” 

 Alice threw him one of her dazzling smiles. “I can tell. Why aren’t you asleep? After ushering me and Patton to rest?” 

 “I was too wound up.” Logan answered. “Why aren’t you asleep, after I ushered you to rest?” 

 Alice shrugged, though Logan noticed that she was tense. “I’ve just been thinking.” 

 “Would you like to talk about it over tea?” Logan offered suddenly. He wanted nothing in that moment but to soothe any fears she had. Plus, he was painfully aware of his own weariness. 

 Alice followed him up the stairs, non-verbally giving her answer. The two talked over their tea in the kitchen, only keeping discussion light, getting to learn more about each other. Unspoken was the fear of what tomorrow would bring them. Unspoken, but still so loud, was the intuitive feeling of what was to come. 

 Alice avoided his gaze through their conversation, and pushed away the thought that this would be her last night on earth. They were the police. They knew what they were doing. Surely, Patton and Logan would figure everything out? 

 Eventually they were both done with their tea, and decided to go to sleep. Logan settled into his bed, too tired to think about how the day had stretched on for forever, and instead focused on the hope that he’d wake up to a new day.

-

-

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[softmossdog]

火災 (Kasai)

-so this is a story I wrote recrntly-ish. I want to flesh it out so that it doesn't move so fast, but I want to make sure it's good before I put more work into it. So maybe if you have 10 minutes, do me a solid and tell me what you think? If it's crap, it's crap.- If his parents asked him, Kenji would have said, "Yeah, the new house seems fine," but truth be told, he was incredibly grateful to get out of that shithole they had lived in before. It's not that their old house was really that bad; there was no mold, no termites, no ghosts (as far as Kenji knew...). It was just so depressing. Or maybe he only felt that way because it was where he was living when he was diagnosed with depression. But the way those empty walls always seemed to stare at him, as if they knew how much of a failure he was... He couldn't be sure. The exterior of the new house was painted a dull gray, which wasn't promising, but then again, the, shall we say, eccentric way the old house was painted hadn't helped at all, so the gray couldn't hurt. His parents warned him that he probably wouldn't be able to notice the extra four square feet of space in his room, but even after he had set up his bed, his bookcase, and his desk, he could swear it still felt bigger. "Hey Kenji, I've got that last box of books for you," said Kenji's balding father. He was short and wore small, square glasses. "Thanks, dad. I think I might take a nap, so don't wait for me for dinner." "Alright, but you better put up your curtains first. I don't trust those people next door. They have a Subaru," his father grumbled, crossing his arms. "Honey, what are you going on about? They seem like perfectly nice people, despite their terrible choice in vehicles. I think I might make them some bread!" Kenji's mother said, rushing off only seconds after she had shown up. It was hard to believe she even had time to breathe with how much running around she did. Kenji's father sighed. "Put up the curtains," he said, nodding towards the bare window. And with that, he walked off in the direction his wife had gone, much more leisurely than she had done. Kenji closed his door, grabbed a book at random out of the box, and laid down on his bed. As an act of rebellion against his oh-so-controlling father, he decided not to put up the curtains that night. Or, more likely, he was just too lazy. The book was boring, and he had already read it, so he fell asleep in no time. The bright orange light outside his exposed window woke him up at what felt like midnight (where had he left his clock?). Naps, as he had noted previously, are a slippery slope that lead only to sleepless nights. He stretched, his feet just barely going past the end of the bed. Once he was suitably stretched, he groggily stood up and walked towards the window. The orange glow he had seen before turned out to be a fire. Suddenly he was much more awake than he had been only moments before. Luckily, the fire seemed contained, but Kenji was fairly certain the hole in the ground was not a regulation fire pit. There was a boy standing near it, burning what looked like some kind of clothing. More interesting than the presumed clothing, however, was the boy. He looked roughly the same age as Kenji and had a narrow frame topped by badly bleached hair. He was clearly not the kind of person to go for regulation anything. Suddenly, a short girl with long brown hair came rushing out of the house in a rage. She was yelling at the boy, who kept a straight face the entire time and stayed visibly calm. Eventually, the girl (the boy's sister?) seemed to give up and go inside, still fuming. The boy turned to go inside but then stopped. He looked straight at Kenji, flipped him off, and then walked inside. Even after he had closed the door, Kenji kept staring. He stared into what remained of the fire. The boy hadn't stopped to put it out, but it seemed to be dwindling. He wondered what the hell it was he had just seen. He decided he would put up the curtains after all. --- After a night of less than restful sleep, Kenji awoke to an empty house. His parents were both at work, and his older brother was undoubtedly with his girlfriend, spending as much time with her as he could before school started. Kenji's brother was only a year older than him, but Takashi had always made him feel like it was much more. Kenji loved his brother, but he was secretly glad he'd be leaving for college the following week. Truth be told, they were both just looking forward to spending some time apart. Kenji was still somewhat haunted by what had happened the previous night, but he was even more haunted by his empty stomach. He searched the fridge, and--ah, yes, leftovers. Maybe breakfast wasn't the greatest time for potato soup, but fall was, so it evened out. Kenji poured the contents of the Tupperware into a small pot and started the burner on medium heat. All his life, he'd wanted to prove wrong the myth about a watched pot, but he had never been able to. This time, he decided, he would finally do it. An eternally long thirty seconds later, he heard, "Tristan, and you are?" from much closer and much more in his house than he would have liked. He jumped, of course, and his first though was burglars, but when he turned and saw it was the boy from last night, his next thought was arsonists. "Tristan, and you are?" the boy repeated. Snapping out of his shock, Kenji replied, "How did you get into my house?" "Interesting name," Tristan responded, "Your window was open." "It wasn't, and even if it was, it's two stories up. How did you get up there? Is there a drainpipe?" Kenji asked enthusiastically. He was suddenly more curious than afraid. "Wrong window, dumbass. Let's try this again. Tristan, and you are?" he extended his hand. "Kenji," Kenji responded, shaking his hand and wondering whether or not he should have lied. They were neighbors after all. But lighting things on fire and breaking and entering aren't exactly what he considered neighborly. "Well, Kenji, I've gotta say, you are the least stealthy person I have ever met. Next time you spy on me, at least bring a newspaper or a fake mustache or something. Make it interesting for me." Kenji couldn't tell to what degree he was kidding. He decided not to say anything. "Well, I'd better get going, things to do, people to see; you know how it is. Tell your mom thanks for the bread." Tristan waved goodbye and strode out the front door. All Kenji could think after their brief interaction was, what a fucking weirdo. But at least he could put a name to the non-regulation boy. --- Later that evening, when Kenji's family and Takashi's girlfriend, Sarah, were all sitting down to dinner, Kenji told them about his strange encounter. "That boy from next door, Tristan, stopped by today," he said. He decided not to tell them he broke in. His dad was already paranoid enough without actual reasons to be worried. "Oh, that's so nice! Did he mention the bread?" Kenji sighed. "Yes, mom, he mentioned the bread. He said to thank you." "What a nice young man!" his mother replied, positively beaming. "I'm not so sure," said his father. "He's probably just acting polite so he can get on our good side. And once we trust him, he'll buy a dozen cobras and set them loose in the house, killing us all." While his dad did sound a bit fanatical, he didn't seem the least bit afraid. Only suspicious "Actually, dad, I don't think you can buy cobras. They're not exactly pets," Takashi chimed in. "You can buy anything if you know the right people," Sarah said. Everyone went quiet for a moment as they contemplated who Sarah knew, and what she had bought from them. Likely not cobras. "So, honey," his mom started, trying to pretend she wasn't just thinking about her son's girlfriend buying illicit snakes, "What did you and this boy talk about?" "Uhh," Kenji started, "nothing much, really. We introduced ourselves, he gave me some advice, and he told me to thank you for the bread. Then he left. That was about it." His mother and father muttered some general words of approval and disapproval, respectively, and dinner went on as it usually did in the Sakamoto household: with Mrs. Sakamoto being endlessly optimistic, and with Mr. Sakamoto being endlessly suspicious. They balanced each other out. Kenji decided to go to bed early, maybe read a chapter or two in that awful book. However, somehow, he just couldn't stay focused. The curtains were hanging up now, but he couldn't stop himself from peeking out every few minutes. He was somewhat disappointed every time he saw only the trees rustling slightly in the wind. He could really use some excitement after a summer of reading successively worse books. About half an hour before midnight, he slowly pulled back his thick curtains, slowly moved his head towards the window, and immediately jumped back in terror, barely suppressing a scream. Suddenly, his window was opening and Tristan was climbing in. He grabbed a pillow from off Kenji's bed, put it on the ground, and sat down cross-legged on top of it. Kenji was still too shocked to say anything. "So, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday," Tristan said, looking far too comfortable on Kenji's floor. "I must have been right about the drainpipe," Kenji muttered. "What?" asked Tristan. "Never mind," said Kenji, finally catching up. "Why are you here?" Kenji continued, less forceful sounding than he would have liked. "What did you see last night when you were spying on me?" Tristan asked, not unkindly. "I wasn't spying," Kenji defended, "I just happened to notice the fire. Fire tends to give off light. I saw the light. That's it." "No, because you watched me for way longer than you needed to realize it was a fire and go back to bed." "I wasn't asleep, and what were you doing out there? What were you burning?" "That's not any of your business," Tristan snapped. A silence fell between them. Tristan took a deep breath in, held it for a moment, and let it out, slowly. "Did you thank your mom for the bread?" Tristan asked, calmly. "Yeah, I did," Kenji responded, calmly. "Why'd you move?" Tristan asked. "Uhh," Kenji started, "our old house was kind of crappy, I guess." "Mold? Leaks? Termites?" "No, just... bad," Kenji said. Tristan seemed to still be waiting for an answer, so he continued, "It just held a lot of bad memories for us." Tristan waited, but Kenji had suddenly become very interested with the cuff of his shirt, and seemed reluctant to say any more. "It was a dress," Tristan said. "Wha-- oh," Kenji replied. "Her ex-boyfriend bought it for her, and every time she opened her closet she would take it out and cry. So... I got rid of it." This was a much more sane explanation than Kenji was expecting. "But then why was she yelling?" Tristan laughed. "She still thinks she's in love with him." Tristan and Kenji talked about several other things of little importance, Kenji eventually feeling comfortable enough to sit down on the floor across from Tristan, the sun eventually rising. By the time Kenji realized how long it had been, Mr. Sakamoto had already brewed his morning coffee. "Uhhhh, I think you better leave," Kenji said, standing up and listening at his door. "Alright, can I go out the front, or am I leaving the way I came?" Tristan responded, standing up as well. "Okay, I don't think he heard anything. It sounds like he's making toast." Yet again, Kenji was lagging behind in their conversation. "Out the window it is," Tristan sighed. Tristan only had one leg left in the bedroom when Kenji finally turned around with a, "Wait, what?" Tristan looked up, smiling with a few strands of blonde hair falling in his face, and said, "Welcome back. We should do this again sometime." And with that, Tristan was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared. ------- Even months after their friendship, if you could call it that, had started, Kenji still felt that he knew next to nothing about the boy next door. He had a sister, his favorite color was blue, and he used to watch Power Rangers when he was a kid. Not exactly enough to piece a person together. Tristan made a habit of sneaking through Kenji's window after everyone else had gone to bed, and Kenji consequently found himself dozing off in all of his classes. There were a few people at school that Kenji talked to, but none that he really considered friends. And he had asked Tristan once why he never saw him at school, but he didn't give a straight answer, and Kenji decided not to ask again. Kenji had also watched Tristan burn a fair few things in his backyard, none of them provoking the reaction from his sister the first had, and he seemed equally as willing to talk about it as he was about school. So he likes to set stuff on fire. At least he does it outside, Kenji reasoned. At least he hasn't burnt his house down. "Yet," a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. Kenji and Tristan seemed to get along fairly well, other than the few subjects they each held close to themselves. One night, during the long weekend corresponding to Thanksgiving, Kenji waited for Tristan to inevitably grace his bedroom with his presence. It was half past one in the morning when he finally heard a small tap at his window. He assumed it was the tree (a tree that had been planted close enough to the house to violate safety regulations, something Kenji was keenly aware of) until he heard a second, then a third tap, both of which sounded decidedly un-tree-like. He opened his window and looked down to see Tristan holding what must have been a small handful of pebbles. Tristan waved. "Romeo, oh Romeo," started Tristan, in a shouted whisper, "wherefore art thy Romeo. Come down from thy tower and join thy Juliet in the damp-eth grass." "First of all," Kenji started, "'wherefore' just means why, and second of all, Juliet is the one in the tower." Kenji paused. "I'll be down in five minutes." Of all the late nights, or, arguably, early mornings, that they had spent together, the two boys had never spent time anywhere other than Kenji's bedroom. But Kenji had learned to go with Tristan's strange ideas and theories, and he suspected this was one of them. Kenji grabbed his puffiest winter coat (he despised the cold), and silently made his way through the house, closing the door as slowly and as quietly as possible. "Let's go for a walk tonight," Tristan said, holding his arm out for Kenji to link his through. Tristan was only wearing a thin hoodie over his light t-shirt and was clearly colder than he let on. They walked through the cold night, Kenji waiting for Tristan to tell him what this was all about. What snow there was crunched softly beneath their feet. "I guess it just didn't really feel right," Tristan said, words visible as his warm breath mingled with the cold air. "What didn't feel right?" Kenji asked, voice barely above a whisper. "School," Tristan replied, shivering. "Here, take my coat," Kenji demanded rather than offered. He took off his puffiest coat revealing a less puffy but still warm coat underneath. Tristan chuckled as he slipped into the sleeves of Kenji's coat. "So, how do I look?" Tristan asked, lifting his arms and looking down at his new coverings. "Puffy," Kenji said, scowling, only now realizing how excessively puffy the coat was, especially on Tristan's slender frame. He made a mental note to retire the puffy monstrosity. They walked a little farther, arms linked together. "I had a mental breakdown," Kenji said, "in the old house." Tristan waited patiently for him to continue, but instinctively pulled him closer. "My family thought that maybe if we changed the environment, it might change me too," Kenji looked anywhere but at Tristan. "And did it?" Tristan asked. "No," Kenji responded, softening nonetheless, "I'm doing better, I guess, but I don't think it's the house or the neighborhood." "What is it then?" Tristan asked. "I think it's just me. With help from you," Kenji responded, the cold air not enough to account for his red cheeks. They had stopped walking. "But, I mean, also the medication, it's been really helpful, it's, uh, adjusting my brain chemistry and whatever, but it's me too? It's like, unlocking the gate, but I'm opening it, you know?" Kenji continued, the words falling all over each other. Tristan turned to look Kenji in the eyes. He held both his hands in his. "I'm really proud of you. That's a big deal. Not everyone... not everybody can do that," Tristan said quietly. He squeezed his hands and they both, without saying a word, turned and started back towards the houses, arms linked a little more tightly than before. --- The next few days, Kenji waited for Tristan, but he never showed up. He almost went to his window, but he realized he had never bothered to notice which one it was. What an awful friend he was. He was no longer occupied for long hours of the night, but he was getting no more sleep than usual. He knew he shouldn't have told him about the old house. He should have just kept it to himself. Every time he opened up to someone about his depression, they started treating him differently. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Tristan grew tired of him anyway. He thought it would have been because of a girlfriend or a better friend-friend, but it didn't come as a complete shock that it was just Kenji fucking himself over, like always. He realized he had never even let him finish talking about school. He glanced out his window one more time, just in case. No happy face greeted his. He started to turn away, resigned to bed, but a slight glow caught his eye. But this time, instead of coming from the backyard, it was coming from one of the windows in Tristan's house. Kenji panicked. He considered calling 911, but he knew it was already too late. He ran out of his room, taking no care to be quiet, and straight out the front door. He had gotten all the way to Tristan's front door before he even realized he wasn't wearing shoes. His stomach sank as he realized he had no way of getting into the house, having neither a key nor the athletic skills necessary to shimmy up a drainpipe. On the verge of tears, he tried the doorknob. It was miraculously unlocked. He had never been in the house before, but as soon as he opened the door, he could tell it was set up identically to his own. He pounded his way up the stairs, smoke already entering his lungs, and reached the door the flame was coming from. He opened the door, bracing himself for the worst. The bed was completely ablaze, the light curtains were turning dark as they caught fire, and there was Tristan, rocking back and forth with his hands around his knees, tears streaming down his face and flames inching ever closer to where he was seated in the corner. Kenji held his arm up to his mouth to stop the worst of the smoke, and made his way over to Tristan. "What are you doing in here? Leave!" Tristan choked out. Kenji didn't respond but grabbed his arm and started to pull. "No. No! Leave me here, you don't understand. Get out or I'll never forgive you. Kenji, stop! Kenji, please." Kenji refused to stop and pulled Tristan with all the force he could gather out of the blazing room. Once they had gotten outside, the fire services had arrived. Luckily, all his rushing about had woken up his parents who immediately called 911. The firemen set to work, safely rescuing Tristan's family, who had been sleeping so deeply they hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. Kenji stood outside, his arms wrapped so tightly around Tristan that he was likely to bruise. Tristan was completely unresponsive and nearly unharmed. His arm had a decently sized burn on it that the paramedics were currently examining, despite Kenji's relentless hold. They had only convinced him to let go for as long as it took to make sure the burn on his arm was his only injury. The paramedics tended to the burn, wrapping it in gauze and assuring him it would heal within a few weeks, though there may be scarring. At some point, someone had brought Kenji his shoes. "Look, I'm not like you, okay?" Tristan said, softly. "I've tried everything. Medication, yoga, witchcraft. Nothing helps. I feel awful all the time, except for the times I feel absolutely nothing. And being around you helps sonetimes, but you can't always be there for me. I can't do this anymore," Tristan was crying, and speaking so softly Kenji had to strain his ears to hear him. "It's just too much. I thought dropping out would be enough, but it wasn't. It doesn't matter whether I'm a face in a crowd or completely alone, it all just feels the same. I can't stand it," Tristan laid his head on Kenji's shoulder and quietly sobbed. Kenji paused before speaking, "I don't know that I can make you feel better, and believe me I'm going to try, but you can guarantee I will be there with you every step of the way. Whatever you need, I'm there. I know it's not enough, but I'm here. I'm really here. Please, just, stay here with me. Please. And don't do it for me, do it for you. You are so necessary to this world. So incredibly necessary. Please stay." Kenji could hardly feel his lips from the ever present chill outside, but he certainly felt Tristan's lips slowly meet his. They were chapped, and somehow still warm, and the kiss filled a hole in Kenji's heart he wasn't aware he had been missing. Tristan slowly moved back. "Okay." ------- Later on, once emergency services had left and it was just the two families out on the wet winter lawns, a stout man began to walk towards Kenji. As he got closer, Kenji realized the left side of the man's face was nearly entirely disfigured. Kenji had watched enough medical TV to know the scarring came from a burn. "Hey. Thanks for saving my kid," the man said, clearly uncomfortable but also notably sincere. Kenji just nodded, not sure what to say. Tristan's father hugged Kenji, suddenly and tightly. "You treat him right," he whispered in his ear. "I will," Kenji whispered back.