Welcome to Tokyo, Japan. January, 1991. The world has entered the technology era, portable phones, home computers, internet, video games. Japan quickly became the epicenter of the latest and greatest. Companies and factories flourished. Where money was, people followed. And while many rose to live a comfortable, happy, and delightful life from this new found money... Others did not. You see, money has this effect on people that can't be outdone. People will do anything for it. And when it starts slipping into the wrong hands, it's impossible to stop. Benethe the day time laborers and the double-shift workers, a seedy underbelly of syndicates exists. Narctics, black market, organized crime, money laundering, you name it and it's been growing as fast as the upper world economy. While many do it just to stay alive, there's those who make it their posh lifestyle. Either way, there's only one question. What would you do if the money was good enough?
JAN 29 2021: Welcome!! ƎLEMENT has been open for two weeks now and we're so happy to see such a bright beginning! If you're new feel free to drop into the discord and say hi before joining.
Fucking cold. Leo pushed his way into the medium sized crowd, moved through the gathering of people in the center of the dive until he was up at the wooden bar-top, settling into a stool. He sucked in a sharp, shivering breath before taking in the stuffy air in a deeper inhale. It was disgusting but he liked it. The air was warm, albeit nasty, and it was a nice change from being outside all the time. He slipped his fingers under his thighs to warm them up. This place was a small step up from the bar he’d been frequenting, but it still had its fill of gross old men in Shinjuku trying to let loose, looking for a night’s escape before returning back to their unsatisfied wives and sticky kids. They usually showed up in small packs, and these men had a very specific type. Looking like exactly the kind of person one might expect at this sort of bar, Leo pretty much met all their standards, although anywhere he went, drunk, young and willing seemed to check all the boxes. Being foreign was extra credit.
For the most part, he didn’t mind finding an older guy—he was into it and had quickly learned how to best apply his skills to survive after he ran out of money. For the small price of bedding them for a whole five minutes before they passed out, he was invited to their secret apartments where he could use their shower, their toothbrush, grab some cigarettes, melt away the grime, dip into their wallets and maybe steal some valuables before making his exit. But the sweaty, desperate ones he was seeing in this bar tonight were nowhere near what he liked and it wasn’t worth it. Disappointing. Leo had a daddy thing, but not in such a literal sense. Even he had standards. Needless to say, he’d only moved from the door to the barstool and he’d already had his fill of being groped for the night and it was time for a break. Pretty soon, all the men (if they could be called that) in the bar would have had one drink, one shot too many, making the more supervised bar area the safest place to get drunk on his own before heading back out into the elements.
He was approached by the bartender before he had to flag him down, ordering two shots after brandishing his fake from the US (usually went unquestioned since it was foreign) and paying with cash he’d taken from a guy the night before. He lined them up in front of himself and tried to zone out to the quiet music and droning conversations in the dark space. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? The spiraling, the intrusive thoughts.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a trembling hand, eyes closed as he drew in an easy breath. It was all bullshit—nothing to get worked up about, nothing he needed to worry about right now. He was safe inside, warm, and his first two shots had burned their way down and were coating his stomach. He wasn’t about to let anything ruin the buzz. It never lasted long and fretting about his isolation or his dad or what he was going to eat tomorrow wouldn’t do anything for him. Not right now.
Warming with the heat of smoke in his lungs, Leo melted into the bar, forehead in his hands, relaxing and shifting his focus to the euphoric tingle in his fingers and intoxicated-pink cheeks.
“Two more,” he requested of the bartender when he’d caught his gaze again, giving the two glasses he already had a little nudge forward.
The evening had brought a slew of the usual crowd; rowdy-ass salarymen clambering around like lost hogs. It was the type of night that he had a love-hate relationship with. He hated the pretentious nature and sharp mouths of the customers—but the chaos was... admittedly, kind of fun. It gave him the opportunity to vent his frustrations without remorse. [break][break]
His knuckles were bruised and lightly bloodied from his recent impromptu break. It wasn’t particularly uncommon for this sort of crowd to start acting as though they owned the ground they walked on after they got a few good drinks—and it wasn’t particularly uncommon for wandering hands to catch the bartender’s watchful eye. Seiya was always more than happy to take the trash out on a cigarette break.[break][break]
He had his work cut out for him tonight, though; the boars looking a bit rowdier than most nights. His ruby gaze quickly flit to a new face; something that wasn’t too common for him. Seiya’s friendly disposition and, well, tendency to be far louder than any Japan-born young man had any business being—had him familiar with the majority of the locals. He was watching Leo intently; weaving his way through the crowd long before he approached to take his drink order.[break][break]
A foreigner, huh? Well, ain’t that somethin’. Young; pretty face, best if I keep an eye on ‘im.[break][break]
He mused, all too happy to sashay over to the guy. He wasn’t exactly Adonis; but the older man flashed a charismatic grin on a pretty-enough face. The scent of coffee, roses, and tobacco followed him; a gentle tinge of rust from that aforementioned trash as he leaned closer to the stranger. Untamable dark chocolate curls pulled back into a looser-than-it-should-be ponytail, spilling over his shoulder.[break][break]
Of course the foreigner had to have a foreign ID... Seiya’s brows furrowed for a moment; checking the dates briefly before dismissing it as ‘probably fine’. If he was being honest; he was always a little... lenient, when it came to IDs; not the most well-behaved himself in his younger years. Not that he was ‘well-behaved’ now, either. The way he eyed the foreigner; crimson sight glued to him—perhaps an indication of that fact.[break][break]
For that first round; he kept his greeting brief—the usual shit you greet every customer with. The fella looked less than pleased with life; and for once—he thought it might be better not to jump right into informal chatter while still behind the bar. He had his hands full flitting between customers as it was. That changed real quick when he caught a glimpse of those trembling fingers light that cigarette, though. An all-too-familiar shadow hanging seemingly hanging over the young foreigner as the same ten tracks droned on and on framing the chatter of that dingy place.[break][break]
Lucky enough; he didn’t need an excuse to go check on him; Leo already clearly ready for another round. ”Two more,” he requested; right on time. Seiya gathered up the glasses and refilled them without question; taking note of the flush already hitting the young man’s face. That booze was hitting him awful fast; something he’d come to take as a warning sign—an intrinsic need to watch out for him spreading though his system.[break][break]
“Rough night, kid?” He purred; passing the drinks back over the bar. He took a moment to linger. A certain fire in his eyes as he took in the other’s visage—studying him closely. “Ain’t seen you around before. Name’s Seiya—what can I call ya?” He murmured as his elbows hit the bar below; chin resting in his hands. Seiya never much one for personal space, looming far too close; those fires in his eyes burning a hole right through Leo.
Leo slid the shot glasses closer, a finger circling the rim of one of them, the smoke from his cigarette lazily clouding the space around him and mingling with that of his neighbors. He was prepared to sink deeper into the bottle and his thoughts and that chair when the bartender spoke up, leaning on his elbows mere inches in front of him as if they were on that level. Bold. The overconfident type, huh? Leo was familiar. He didn’t lean back. He met the man’s gaze, looking up with only his eyes as he - as Seiya - started trying to make conversation. Too bad the guy was sober and would probably be on shift too late for this to go anywhere (or for Leo to get anything from him). It was interesting, though. He was certain he wasn’t giving off a single vibe that asked to be chatted up or even one that suggested he was the least bit friendly. He was completely closed off, a clearly out of place foreigner there to drink, feel like shit, and then hit the road. The guy must’ve been bored or seeking a good tip, which he wasn’t going to find from Leo who was dropping his last few bucks on well tequila. Or maybe he was just really bad at reading the air.
Hm. Well, small talk was better than spiraling. Before a grin could finish stretching slowly across the boy’s lips, he tossed back shot number three and exhaled with the burn. More tingling, catalyzed by the weight of the other man’s gaze. The racing thoughts quieted, if only for a moment.
“Something like that,” he explained, dark eyes finding the empty glass as his fingers fidgeted around it. It hadn’t been a rough night, exactly. More like a rough week. Rough month. Rough year. But he wasn’t wrong. This night in particular was going to blow a little extra. He hadn’t found a place to crash for the remaining hours of it, which meant he wasn’t going to get any money for the next day, which meant it was going to be that much harder tomorrow to go out and find someone to sleep with and slip a few bucks from for the day after that. An anxiety inducing, vicious cycle. The type that fed all those thoughts he was having about contacting his dad and going home. His favorite sort of thoughts. Lucky him.
Another drag of the cigarette while he debated telling Seiya his real name. The definition of self-destructive, stranger danger was far from a concern of his. If it had been, he wouldn’t have found himself in a different bedroom every night with a stranger he couldn’t understand in a country he knew nothing about. He had nothing to lose by being honest and more importantly nothing to gain by lying. He’d already seen his ID and knew the answer, anyway. The question was probably just a formality to get the conversation going. Honesty would be fine for now.
So despite not being in the chattiest, friendliest mood, he decided it was something to get his mind off things and Seiya got his answer.
“Leo.”
He held eye contact as he did the fourth shot, silently challenging the guy to keep talking to him or perhaps warning him that he wouldn’t like where things would go if he did. It was nearly a glare but an unintentional one. A habit he’d picked up to protect himself and assert his own dominance before the other got any ideas. A wall.
“And you probably won’t see me again,” he informed. Especially not if he decided to dine and dash like he often did. Tokyo was a big place full of plenty of bars. He could’ve skipped the bill at every single one for a year and still would have been able to find somewhere to go the next night. Meant he was more likely to get his shit wrecked in some back alley if he got caught, but it was a risk he was willing to take if it also meant he had a few more bucks for the next day.
Leo flicked the end of his cigarette and watched the ash fall into the nearest tray, chin resting on the base of the palm of his cigarette-holding left hand. They were close enough that Seiya could’ve smelled the alcohol on his breath and Leo wondered if he’d back away.
