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.
CONTENT WARNING direct reference to/recollection of csa, alcoholism
Leo slept like the dead. Hard enough that he’d wake to sheet lines on his cheek and arm, hair all pushed up and messy. He still faced forward but his limbs sprawled out in all directions, the blanket a tangled mess around his legs, one hand on his stomach beneath the bunched up shirt that wasn’t his. Probably could’ve stayed like that through an earthquake, but the sound of footsteps and activity in the kitchen was a different story.
That smell again. So pungent, he could taste the acidic, smoky tang just from breathing it in. It choked up the room enough to rouse him - frustrating for as comfortable as he was. He could’ve slept another five hours. Felt like it’d only been so many.
He inhaled deep as he rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. It was the sort of smell that seeped into everything, the detergent lingering in the cotton pillowcase offering little solace. No matter. He’d do what he could to force himself back into dreamless sleep while he had the opportunity. Who knew if the guy was serious about letting him stay on his couch? He hadn’t realized, but it was the first time he slept not only soundly but safely in...he didn’t even know how long. The last time had to have been sometime in middle school. So he had to take advantage.
Floating in that in-between, the coffee stench began to drip into his subconscious, brewing up some nightmarish memory, and before he could stop it, it was no longer just the coffee.
It was his father’s breath. Similar to the way rain smells sweet when falling but like corpses once it soaks into the ground and all the worms crawl to the surface, coffee too has a distinct scent once it makes it to someone’s tongue. His father's worms were cool mint toothpaste and the burn of cheap Jim Beam that filled more of his mug than the coffee ever did.
It was sandpaper stubble on his unshaved chin tearing into Leo’s, and calloused, emery board fingers squeezing his neck, wearing Leo down to nothing but bone while the popcorn ceiling adorned with a glow-in-the-dark galaxy stared down at the scene. He’d always been afraid that the rough protrusions would fall into his eyes like meteors from between the little green stars while the weight of a body bigger than his own crushed his hands between them. There was asbestos in them, right? Maybe it was the poison in those ceilings that made the man act like that.
His body didn’t allow him the response of jumping awake - it hadn’t been an instinct in a long time.
Instead, he took another big breath, scrunched up his nose like he’d done the previous night at the miasma of brew growing ever-stronger in the small studio, and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling with the back of a hand pressed to his forehead. Popcorn free. If Tokyo had one thing going for itself, it was smooth ceilings. Maybe that was why Milo picked that place.
Evenin’.
Leo’s attention fell to the side, his gaze serving as a wordless response, the still-too-tired boy not the type to be ready to speak just after waking up. He checked the green digital display on the oven behind the guy to read 6:09. In the evening, huh? More than...what? Twelve hours of sleep? And he still couldn’t break the exhaustion.
He heaved a heavy sigh and sat up, rubbing at his face to the tune of a sleepy groan.
“Morning,” was his eventual dazed reply, mumbled in a rasp mirroring Milo’s. Pretending like those awkward final moments before he slept hadn’t happened in hopes that they could just move on, he continued, “Time for work already? No rest for the wicked, huh?”
He swung his feet over the edge of the couch after detangling his legs from that blanket, trying not to make a face as his shoulder screamed in protest of the changes in pressure and position. Man, he wanted to peel back that bandage to get a good look at the healing gash beneath it so bad but fought the urge. It ached so deep - even worse than before Milo cleaned it - and air would probably make it worse. Some help that was. He knew he should’ve just left it to heal on its own.
“I’ll go change out of your clothes.” Leo stood and grabbed his glass of water from the previous night to finish it off. It was stupid of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the guy for anymore help. Not outside of inquiring, “Care if I use your stuff one more time before I go?”
Leo blinked at their hands as the warmth of the other’s fingers retreated from beneath his own, then watched them wrap pointedly and securely around the handle of the first aid kit. Thrown by the rejection, he was quiet, at a loss for words, struggling to process where he’d gone wrong. He stood when the other walked away to store the kit, unsure now that he’d crossed a line he apparently was wrong to cross.
And yet, the offer to sleep there was still on the table.
“O...kay,” he agreed, a hand moving to rub uncomfortably at some of the water on the side of his neck from his still-wet hair.
He shifted, avoided meeting his gaze because he knew he would only squirm under the weight of it. He’d fucked up all over again. Twice in a fucking row. He prided himself on his ability to read people and he could’ve sworn this was no exception. Who the fuck helped someone for free? Nothing came to him with no strings attached and he was convinced that nothing ever would. And now this guy was going to just...help him? Out of what? The goodness of his heart? That wasn’t a quality he’d found in a single person on the planet - goodness - and Leo doubted he’d find it in Tokyo.
He watched the guy go over to his bed and lingered in place, deciding whether or not he wanted to stay. Ultimately, he found himself relaxed back into the cushions, fingers running over the blanket draped across the couch, stroking the soft fabric and zoning out for a moment before stretching out and wrapping it around himself, the plush a nice change of pace from gravely asphalt. His spine ached, his lower back throbbing with sharp pain that made it hard to breathe as the pressure and tension left his body and allowed all those vertebra and joints to decompress back to their intended states. Sleeping on pavement and benches had caught up to him just as fast as the hunger, it seemed, which was causing issues of its own as he tried to go to sleep in the comfort of four walls while he had the chance. The ramen was so much, so heavy, and his stomach was cramping in protest of its over-capacity.
Leo groaned softly and rolled onto his side, blinking into the room that would’ve been pitch black if not for the lights outside the window. His back was to the cushions, which made him feel protected. Ready. He didn’t distrust Ramen Guy but he didn’t exactly trust him, either. More pressingly, he didn’t trust the dark. The worst things tended to happen when guards were down and lights were off and facing forward made him feel more poised maybe not to make a break for it but to at least have a moment to mentally prepare for anything coming his way.
We can...see about it being yours after that if you want.
He repeated it in his head.
We can see about it being yours after that if you want. We can see about it being yours after that if you want.
Did he mean, like, permanently? And was...was Leo actually considering taking him up on it? God forbid something work out for him. There had to be a catch. Enlist in some gang, get sold off. Whatever it would be (and there definitely was something) he’d find out tomorrow. Sleep came fast and heavy and Leo was helpless to give into its pull.
He’d eaten so much so fast, he wasn’t hungry anymore but he kept shoveling it all in anyway, albeit slower, so he didn’t mind when Hikaru reached over and took some for himself. It was too good to waste and he was determined to get his fill while he had the opportunity, but there was plenty to go around. And now that he wasn’t scarfing it down, his attention focused back on his momentary meal ticket.
Not a cop, but an ex-cop.
A wary glance lifted from the plates to the other man, only weighing on the blond for a moment before finding his glass. He’d spent plenty of time around cops and while he couldn’t speak for the Japanese brand of them, he didn’t care much for the American ones. Good for nothing monkeys with a laundry list of complexes working a system meant to hurt more than help. Fucking dicks. He pulled the glass close and observed the swirling liquid as the man explained that he didn’t like how things were being run which had prompted him to become some alley brawler. He chuckled at the addition about visiting the doctor and finished half the pour in two gulps. At least he bailed on the shitty career choice, but Leo couldn’t help but worry that the kind of guy who took a job like that in the first place could change enough to be a friend.
It was a strange way to spend one’s time, vigilantism. Leo could’ve been a piece of shit murderer or worse, for all he knew, and Hikaru risked his life to help him. Alley patrol sounded stupid on the surface, but Leo was met again with an impusle telling him the guy was cool. Jumping into fights, recklessly getting the hell beaten out of himself, giving no consideration to what the situation he was barging in on actually was - sounded like the kind of passtime Leo could respect. “Yeah, I bet it is,” he salaciously mused, grin crooked as he brought another bite to his lips. Warm. Comfortable. A real nice guy.
He didn’t look over at the other man, picking apart a chunk of meat lone on a plate with his chopsticks and chewing on tiny pieces at a time so the peppery, metallic taste wouldn’t end so soon. That grin remained apparent and he made no attempt to conceal it. This was a game he was used to playing.
“Would it make you feel better if I said yes?” Leo repeated his same question as an answer from earlier, this time adding, “Or maybe you'd feel better if I say no?” He quirked a brow and observed his reaction before giggling softly, playfully, and finishing his glass. Starting to feel more okay - lighter, tingly, talkative - his hands immediately went for a refill. “Can’t say no to such a kind offer, can I? ‘Specially from the guy who just bought me a meal and went full Batman in some alley for me. You’re not taking me back to Wayne Manor, are you?”
Their eyes met and his energy dominated Leo’s immediately. He couldn’t place the emotion behind it. Not mean or angry or threatening, but not sad or hurt. His gaze was just...heavy. It unsettled him. He felt like a kid in trouble. Like he’d definitely fucked up with that question. The boy, who usually found himself unable to shut up, could come up with no words to break the tension. He remained stuck there, staring into his eyes like he was watching his story wordlessly unfold within them, until Milo looked away and Leo could breathe again. Yeah, definitely fucked up.
He wouldn’t say sorry because he didn’t know how but he certainly had a whole pit of sorry in his stomach. He stayed quiet for a moment, letting the wound be silently tended to, before he spoke up.
“It just hasn’t been particularly...welcoming. To me. Is all I meant. But I guess I was sorta stupid about it. I just...wanted out,” he explained and rolled his eyes at himself, wondering why the fuck he said the things he did, then groaned softly at that deep, dull ache of antiseptic seeping into his skin and tightened his fingers into a fist.
The guy was right. He wouldn’t lose an arm. Not today. But that didn’t mean anything for tomorrow or the day after that when he was back out on the streets. Though he felt similar to the way Milo did about Tokyo. If he had the money, he was certain he wouldn’t have gone back to the States. But being told his reason for being there was likely a good one had the opposite effect and made him doubt what drove him to leave. It was valid, sure, he knew that. And he was fed up with his life in Maine. But this guy had clearly been through his own sea of shit and Leo, king of woe-is-me, found himself feeling like it was a little dramatic bailing all the way across the planet just because his dad was a creep because he was certain his own gaze wasn’t as learned, as tired or as intense as Milo’s.
“Are you not…? Um-” He blinked at Milo as he packed up the kit. Leo was fully prepared to make his move, offer his payment and thanks the best way he knew how, but ever since he looked at him like that, he’d lost his footing and was fumbling through this entire encounter in a way he’d never done with anyone before. Leo glanced at the couch, then back over to the man.
“You’re seriously just letting me sleep here without….anything?” he pressed and let a hand slip over one of Milo’s, stopping it from cleaning up. He glanced up at him but only for a moment, nervous to meet his gaze again, then let his eyes fall to his lips, his chest, their hands. He hadn't gotten a thing for free. Not once in his life. There was always a toll. He didn't expect that to change now. “I don’t mind.”
You’d never know it, but he was enjoying himself. That telltale sticky air, sticky floor, sticky bar of a delightfully trashy venue, decent fucking music, good size crowed - he’d missed it. For the first time since he’d arrived in that godforsaken city, he was on the brink of smiling. He had a drink in hand, food in his stomach, and was surrounded by pounding bass and people his age. It was a whole night of firsts. It was the first time in a few weeks that he had an extra few hundred yen burning a hole in his pocket, the first time he didn’t have to worry quite so much about where he would be staying that night or when his next meal would be, the first time he felt warm. Like things were finally coming together and moving to Tokyo wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life (which really would’ve been saying something). So celebrating not feeling like shit for five seconds was the right thing to do, he assured himself, and there he was in that dingy bar, ears ringing and stomach filling with liquor just like he was home.
The night would also become the first time he’d purchased a drink for someone else, the boy usually on the receiving end of the offer. Leo had spent his time out hanging back on a barstool, which allowed him a good view of the whole place. He eyed the guy from the opener as he made his way over from a door off to the side, the crowd none the wiser that he’d joined them as the headliner played on. As he approached, Leo felt his stomach twist and heart beat a little faster and- Was he nervous? Starstruck?
He was thankful to the guy. He knew that much. His music was good and he was energizing and familiar to watch. But he also thought he was...cool. The first cool person he’d run into in a while. The first person to make him miss the music scene. And while Leo typically had an easy time with words, he found himself not wanting to look like an idiot in front of the guy a little extra and it made him unsure. Did he even want to be spoken to?
Leo looked over at him, let his gaze linger, and hesitated for another moment before deciding to say something.
“You guys were great,” he spoke up over the music, though his disinterested expression said otherwise. “Buy you a drink?” Leo flagged the bartender, getting another for himself and allowing the guy to order whatever he wanted. Whether or not the guy wanted to hang around was up to him.
He’d never had German food, so he couldn’t provide his opinion on it. He’d grown up eating very basic Japanese cuisine, the occasional Korean meal, but mostly his household lived on classic Americana. Things his dad liked. Hamburger helper, pot pies, spaghetti, meatloaf, casserole - the staples. Nothing special, nothing particularly delicious. Salt, meat, bread, butter. He wondered if German meals were similar. What did they have a lot of there? Beer. He knew that much.
“Would it make you feel better if I said yes?” he joked, too caught up in the food placed before him to check the other’s reaction.
Fuck, it looked good. Smelled even better. It felt like it’d been ages since he’d had a hot meal, especially one freshly prepared and not nuked in a low wattage microwave at a 7-Eleven. Leo was practically drooling. He pulled the small plates closer and shifted in his seat, digging right in, and...ah...it tasted even better than he could’ve hoped. He could've cried. He gave a soft hum of approval and started eating a little quicker, not realizing he was eating with all the manners and restraint of the starving kid he was. That was to say, none at all. The second the rich food hit his stomach, though, he felt that telltale churn of protest and made a pact with himself that he’d keep it down no matter what. If he had a better idea of when he’d be able to eat like this (or at all) again, it wouldn’t have felt like such a big deal. But he needed the nutrients while he could get them. And he didn't want to have to relive the meal as disgusting in an hour or so. He wanted to savor it.
“I don’t know about a plan, though. I’m just...around,” he decided to further explain after washing down what he’d inhaled so far with a big swig of umehsu. “Grabbed a flight here, couldn’t afford one back. But I dunno if I would’ve even if I had the money. I’d say I’ve done pretty fine for myself so far, considering.” He shoveled some rice onto his chopsticks and brought it carefully to his lips, not the most skilled with them but doing a well enough job. It wasn’t his first time using them, at least. “What about you?” Leo asked while chewing. “You a full time alley patroller? Cop or something? Seems like you got a lot of friends.”
If he wanted to go he wouldn’t stop him? The hell was that supposed to mean? He was going to let him stay as long as he wanted? He really was stupid, wasn’t he? Or maybe Leo was just really good at reading the air and his earlier assumption was right. This help wasn’t coming free.
Leo sighed his acquiescence and slipped into the chair.
“Not sure what you think any of this is gonna do for me,” he muttered to explain his reasoning for wanting to leave, watching the guy get situated next to him. Although he’d been timid about taking the help - the food, the water, the first aid - proximity didn’t faze him. Even if Milo was considering doing something to him, Leo didn’t particularly care. It couldn’t have been much worse than anything else, and he’d have brought it on himself by foolishly going with and trusting this stranger. He was practically signing up for it. Actually, he was hoping for it. He wouldn’t mind another body, the place to sleep, regardless of whatever else that might’ve entailed. It must’ve been some instinct he didn’t know he had trying to get him to leave. He wouldn’t listen.
He winced at the sting of the antiseptic in that deep gash on his arm but tried not to make it obvious. The itchy burn and pressing were both uncomfortable, but the guy’s hands were gentle. Leo could tell he was trying to handle him carefully. He was doing a decent job, which enforced Leo’s suspicion that despite what he’d said, this wasn’t his first time bringing in some kid off the street.
“Why’d you leave Seattle for a shithole like this?” he wondered after a moment’s silence, gaze heavy on the other man to gauge his reaction. “Worth it?”
A new friend, huh? Was that what they were now? Friends? A bold declaration, but he supposed it’d be fun to have a friend for the night. And that was all they would be - friends for the night. Come sunrise, Leo would be back out on the streets and Hikaru would be back...wherever it was he belonged. His job. His apartment. His life. Not his family - at least not from what Leo inferred from a quick glance at his left hand. For now, though, Leo would enjoy the food, the drink, and the company, free or otherwise.
He listened to his explanation regarding his hair and English ability, watching the man run his fingers through it before he went back to sipping his drink. Sounded almost like his parents, if it were reversed. A Zainichi Korean woman who found herself in the States, made the mistake of marrying his dad and then made the mistake of having Leo. Died when he was fifteen. Really lovely. The one who taught him the fumbling household Japanese he couldn’t really manage anymore. Leo didn’t make a comment about it, but it might’ve been pretty clear on his face that the personal history struck something deep within him, so he brought the glass back to his lips with a thoughtful hum as his response and downed the majority to cover it up. ‘Mom’ wasn’t a great topic for new friends to start on.
What brought him to Tokyo?
“First a cab, then a plane,” he recalled. “Another cab after that.” Again with that by the look of ya comment. Really. What was he trying to get across that he thought Leo didn’t already know? He looked like shit. Probably smelled like it. He was starving and roughed up and he’d found him while he was in the middle of getting his ass handed to him. But...he was right. This wasn’t well thought out. It wasn’t thought out at all. It was pure impulse and by the time he was second guessing himself, it was too late. Regardless of his garbage situation, though, it was better than being home. He was sure of it. If he’d stayed, he’d be dead or back in jail awaiting trial as an adult for homicide.
“I dunno. Guess the stuff in America isn’t for everyone.” Leo gave a casual shrug and sipped back the last of the umeshu, helping himself to a refill, making it quite obvious that he didn't want to talk about it when he brought the glass to his lips again. “Food here is better, that’s for sure.”
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.
Leo jumped at the impact and then froze. What the fuck did she-? He turned over his shoulder to investigate and found her shoe hitting the ground at his feet. Throwing shit? Was she kidding? He looked up at her with a face that asked the same question before it returned back to the scowl that seemed to be his resting expression. He just walked to sleep. He was losing precious daylight and if he had to stay up all night on less than a few sporadic hours of “rest”, he’d hunt her down and she could give him her bed for the night to make up for it. And he wouldn’t be showering first.
You serious, asshole?
Did he look unserious? The real question here was if she was serious. Throwing her shoe at him like they were four? And now standing in the alley in her sock? Idiot. She was probably picking up forty different infections just by standing there. Leo groaned in annoyance and exhaustion and picked the small shoe up, tossing it overhand back at the girl but undershooting it so it’d land in front of her while she was busy going off at him.
He wanted to call her out for that treat you to a meal comment, since it clearly implied that Leo was right and she did have money to throw around, but she just didn’t ever shut up, did she?
“What the fu- Fucking weirdo. God,” Leo shook his head, rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, “girls are so fucking weird. You want me to take advantage of you? And who’s the one assuming here, creep? Little rude to call someone homeless without really knowing, huh? You don’t know what I do and don’t eat. Get a fuckin’ filter. Why don't you take that money you were gonna pity toss me and put it toward your bail for when they finally catch up with you. Or would your dad buy you out of that, too?"
Warm droplets fell from the ends of his hair to the shirt, slowly soaking the collar and shoulders and making the fabric darker in sporadic splotches. Leo leaned back in the chair, one foot pulled comfortably up on the edge of it, the other leg open to the side to take up a little more space with performative confidence. He watched the other move casually around the kitchen, getting everything together and placing it all before him in a relaxed fashion like he took people off the street all the time and this was completely normal. He wondered if it was. The guy must’ve been pretty stupid to bring people in and out all the time. Maybe that was why he didn’t have much stuff. Not anywhere obvious, at least.
Leo leaned forward, both feet on the ground like a normal person as he picked up the chopsticks and slid the left bowl closer. Not bothering to make any small talk to fill the silent space between them, he dug right in. Still feeling emotional from the heat of the shower and the lightness of being clean, the bowl was even better than it was a few days earlier to the extent that he thought he might cry over it. He sighed softly and took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of it in the air and the warmth in his stomach - savoring with all his senses before it would be gone again. Just like last time.
Feeling normal, if only for an hour or so, had the power that a full eight hours of sleep would’ve. He never thought he’d place so much value in a hot shower, a meal, and four walls. He was relaxed, guard almost all the way down, and unbelievably sleepy. Not tired. He was tired, too. Exhausted. But this was different. It was heaviness in his eyes and an urge to crawl under a warm blanket on the couch in a hoodie and socks fall asleep to a movie he wasn’t paying attention to. And in the time he’d spent fantasizing about it, he’d finished the meal and the water, not realizing he’d eaten so fast again until his stomach twisted in protest of being so full.
“Alright, doc,” he started, “thanks for the food but I think you can spare me the bandaids.” The wounds were still throbbing, especially the slice across the base of his deltoid, and the bust in his lip stung from the salty broth, but convinced they were menial despite how much they’d bled earlier and not exactly sold on the merit of a bandaid versus the dirt of the streets, he stood to go. “Save ‘em for the next kid you bring in.”
He seemed popular and Leo wondered what that implied. He must’ve been pretty reputable around there. A bunch of people he’d helped in alleys in the past? People who appreciated him keeping tabs on the area, maybe? If that was what he even did.
Leo slid the ID back toward himself when the bartender glanced at it, surprised it wasn’t inspected more closely since he was used to being suspected everywhere he went. Still propped up on his elbow, he watched Hikaru order, picked up a word or two but otherwise was at a loss as to what they were getting until the man asked him if he’d ever had it before - umeshu. Never even heard of it.
Leo shook his head, a crooked, tiny smirk at the observation that the guy had leaned forward just like he was. He didn’t move. Just lingered there, holding eye contact.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he challenged with a quirked brow, feigning offense as if he had no idea what could have possibly prompted Hikaru to say such a thing. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the pity but he wasn’t stupid enough to decline a free meal. He’d just run out of money. If he hadn’t taken it, he was going to wish he had. “You sure? I’m not gonna pick the cheap stuff just because you’re treating me.”
Leo finally broke the eye contact, leaning back in the chair and tapping his fingers on a menu the next seat over, dragging it over to look at it and glad to have pictures to reference rather than Japanese only. They weren’t the most helpful but they got the idea across. There was nothing he disliked, so when the bartender returned with their bottle, he pointed to a few things with the most basic location word kore (that sounded notably unnatural) and topped it off with a standard thank you at the end. He could at least manage that much, thanks to his mom.
Leo waited while the bottle was opened and poured over the ice in the glass, the sticky sweet scent of the amber liquid making his brows pull together in curiosity. He wasn’t too into sweet stuff, but it was a whole bottle and it was free. He picked it up to inspect it a little before turning to Hikaru with that same crooked grin.
“To back alleys and good timing,” he mused, drink just barely raised before he brought it to his lips and- Hm. It was super sweet, but it was good. Cold. Easy to drink. He could’ve gone through that whole bottle in minutes if he’d been drinking alone like usual. “So you’re blond and you speak English. Where’s that make you from?”
Don't invite them all to drinks, though, just the ones that seem like they'd have a fun story to share.
Was that so? His grin widened, a drag of the cigarette concealing it, sort of, though it became obvious that the comment was well received when the man winked and Leo couldn’t quite hide it anymore. He exhaled to the side before looking over with his head tilted playfully forward, eyes up on his companion. He was interested in his story, was he? Some dirty kid getting in a fight outside a bar in Back-Alley Tokyo? Leo wasn’t sure what the guy expected to hear, but it wouldn’t be much. Probably wouldn’t even be the truth. Still, he was fine enough at entertaining. He’d put together something good to tell him.
“Oh, yeah? Ha, lucky me then. But sorry, it isn’t that good of a story.” Leo stayed close, right up next to Hikaru so he could easily follow whichever direction he led. Another two puffs of that cigarette and it was burning out close to his fingers. The boy tossed it to the pavement, eyes following as it skidded against the wall to join a few more butts littered around a busted part of the sidewalk, then looked over to the bar Hikaru directed his attention to. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get the snot beat out of them at this one. Leo doubted they wanted someone in his current state hanging around. But it wasn’t quite so scary approaching it with a second and a reason to be there that wasn’t just loitering.
He watched the man gesture to his neck, raised his fingers to the spot on himself and felt at the skin there and- Ah. Pulling them away, he saw a smear of red the same as he had on his jeans and stained on the back of his hand up past his wrist. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it up, wiping his neck (and his busted lip for good measure) down with the inside of it before glancing over at Hikaru for approval. Shit like this - violence and blood - seemed pretty normal around there, so he was surprised the other man was worried about it, especially since they were going to be in a bar. Though doubtful, maybe Leo just got the wrong impression that first week. Maybe Tokyo wasn’t so bad and the normal people in the city weren’t as desensitized to it as it seemed. Maybe. Certainly didn’t explain Hikaru’s predatory vigilantism or anything else up until that point.
“Yeah, actually, in my spare time. Seems to work for me,” he teased back, hands returned to their respective pockets now that he was smoke free. Entering the bar, it seemed like...a bar. Decent place, fairly busy but still plenty of open space. Leo found his way to the bar where he set up camp on a stool, deciding what he’d get this time around. That fight had sobered him up but left him with a headache and throbbing lip. Maybe he’d just let his co-part decide for both of them.
“Whatever he’s having,” he told the bartender when approached, fake already slapped down on the bar. Propped up by his elbow and cheek on his fist, he looked up at Hikaru with that same head tilt and little grin from earlier. “What’ll it be?”
Innocent didn’t suit him, huh? Leo grinned, the comment nothing he wasn’t used to hearing. He wouldn’t recognize the feeling for what it was, but there was a little pang of sadness in his chest. Yeah, he was right. It didn’t suit him, did it?
When they got to his apartment, the door was opened and a humble studio was presented to him. Minimal, not really decorated, clean. Seemed like a decent place. He watched the guy move naturally around the place, telling him his options, and tried not to feel so out of place. Sounded like the bathroom was first, then.
Leo wandered in, pushing open the door and peeking hesitantly inside like there was someone waiting to jump him. There wasn’t. He relaxed a little with his next exhale and moved the rest of the way past the threshold, flicking on the light and the fan and looking around. It was clean, bare. Just like the rest of the apartment, he noticed. He moved past the mirror, not yet mentally prepared to see how he looked in one that wasn’t in a convenience store, and twisted the shower dial around until he figured out which direction was hot. He turned it nearly all the way up with a plan to melt away the layers of filth on his skin and the grease in his hair and he was suddenly so excited to be clean he could hardly stand himself. The excitement spread from his core all the way out to his fingers and he decided he’d find a way to kill a minute or two while the water warmed so the wait would go fast. He found himself at the vanity, still avoiding eye contact with his reflection. He snooped through the cabinet, inspecting the various Japanese products the guy owned, opening some of them to investigate before quietly replacing them so he wouldn’t know he went through his stuff.
He went through the drawers similarly. Quietly slid them open, poked around, and- Ah. A toothbrush. Still sealed, too. His now. Leo ripped open the plastic wrap and ran the cold water, helping himself to toothpaste and getting to work and...fuck. That was so nice. He scrubbed hard at his teeth, even used floss since he didn’t know when he’d get to clean up again next.
Onto the shower. If he thought the minty coolness was nice, the hot water was fucking fantastic. It covered him like a restorative blanket and Leo drew in a breath, the hot water turning gray and red from that gash on his arm as it ran to his feet and down the drain. He slathered himself in the guy’s soaps, reveling in the feeling and the nice scents. Never thought he’d feel that way about a shower.
It really hit him when he got out. Leo finally caught himself in the mirror and he looked...bad. Exhausted. His eyes were dark and he looked uptight and pale and...different than he looked in America. So much for this place being his escape. The longer he examined himself, drying longer, dark locks, the more everything started bubbling up in his chest and then his throat and then he was crying in a stranger’s bathroom in the middle of Tokyo. Not wanting to be heard, he buried his face in the towel and held his breath until he choked back the tears. He took a big breath in as if to purge himself of the last of the dirt and pulled on the clothes. Just a little big, but in the comfy sort of way. Smelled like him. And it made tears prick his eyes again.
The smell of coffee hit him when he stepped out of the steamed up room and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Smelled like his old house in the mornings and he didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t say anything. Awkward, he rejoined the other boy in the living space, unsure where to go or what to do but keeping up with that air of confidence.
“What’d I miss?” he wondered, plopping himself on a chair in the kitchen area. “Entertain yourself while I was gone?”
Oh, now she was sorry, was she? Well, it wasn’t the apology he wanted but it was an apology enough. He was way too exhausted to deal with any more of her shit and it was probably smart to get out of there before the cops managed to hunt her down. Something told him they wouldn’t - he doubted she would’ve run like that if it had been her first time encountering them - but he couldn’t be too safe right now.
"Ugh, whatever. Sorry for calling you ugly. I shouldn't have said it out loud."
Leo was completely ready to walk away, go back to absently wandering around until he found a decent place to crash, but she spoke up. Too bad, because he really didn’t want to have to keep standing there. He was irritable and weak as hell and he was happy to take it out on her but the good boy deep, deep down didn’t really want to. Especially when her questions made him wonder why she asked them.
You don't speak Japanese, do you? How the hell do you expect to survive in Tokyo if you don't speak the language?
Ugh, couldn’t she just let him leave so he could sleep? This wasn’t going anywhere. They’d part and never see each other again if they were both lucky. They were wasting precious daylight.
“I’ve been here this long,” he pointed out, though it wasn’t doing much for his case. He looked like shit, smelled like shit, felt like shit, and sure was fucking acting like shit. He was alive, though, so he at least had her there. “Why? Like you give a fuck. You speak English, and I’m sure you’re not the only one. I doubt you were gonna offer to lend your services, anyway. You can’t even make eye contact with me.” Leo scoffed and shifted his weight, current position getting tiring, then turned to start walking. He didn’t want anyone’s pity or charity regardless, but it wasn’t like he’d trust her with any help she might’ve been willing to give. She was clearly in some of her own shit. Adding that to his own would’ve been...a lot of shit. “Don’t you have a daddy to run back to, little girl? You should probably get going before he gets worried.”
