Chapter Text
“And what do you tell them?”
The car smelled like cigarettes and expensive Italian cologne. He grew up with that scent. It was nauseating.
“Goro-chan,” a weird hint of softness appeared in the man’s demanding tone, as he stared at the teen sitting on the passenger seat, "what do you tell them.”
That sly look met one single scornful, ghastly eye.
“I was in a fight.”
“Good.”
A half smile appeared on the man’s face, staring at the kid’s eye moving once again to glance outside the vehicle. The window’s glass divided him from the outside, from the uncaring teenagers walking slowly towards the school’s gate. These were places he wasn’t familiar with, people he didn’t recognise.
The white, medical eyepatch covering his sore eye, the dark circles around the other one; his reflection on the glass, like a mirror. His mind, blank.
In a moment, the boy’s body stiffened up at the sudden and rough pat the man dared to impose on his head, as if he was trying to convey some kind of affectionate gesture, a concept alien to his person.
“Have a good day at school.”
Goro turned around.
“Button that up,” he pointed at the last undone button hanging on his collar, “we don’t want them to think you’re some kind of punk.” The man sneered at his own thought, seeing how the boy sitting in front of him had his thick, black hair a little longer than what was allowed by the school, his bangs falling down well below his cheeks, covered in healing bruises. There was no way anyone would think he was something else but a punk.
“I have to go.”
“Yes, sure. Have a nice first day.”
Goro opened the car’s door and stepped out, grabbing his bag from the seat. The autumn wind stroke his face as he mechanically began walking towards his new school, with the constant feeling of being observed, being kept safe, as his uncle Tsukasa would correct. Goro had to be controlled at every step, he explained, especially after what had happened.
In any case, the term “uncle” was just a mere title people would use to make their relationship easy to understand, since they didn’t share any blood relation. Eventually, Goro had dropped it four years prior, at the age of eleven. Uncle Tsukasa morphed into Mr. Sagawa, as if the boy was trying to put distance between them as fast as possible.
The hand that fed him would so easily turn into an iron blade, that any familial term would soften the edges of abuse. Mr. Sagawa was nobody. A man who had raised Goro since he was four and never had the guts to spit out what had happened to his real parents; why was he living with him. Why his job would make his so-called nephew cry in pain, as grown men attempted to murder him at the age of fourteen.
How it could happen, for a boy to lose an eye like that.
Goro passed the gate and adjusted his collar. His buttons impeccable, his stance straight and silent.
How it could happen, for a boy to lose his only friend like that.
1978
--
He felt watched. Even in their new flat, at the second floor of an apartment complex, in another side of town he had never visited. Those skilled eyes on him were trying to put a crystal glass over him, avoiding any contact with unknown strangers, even though nobody knew they had moved there. Or so Sagawa hoped.
Puffs of smoke blowing out from his mouth had his mind flutter to memories close in time, yet so distant, almost unreal; his hair a little longer, grinning under the summer sun while telling a joke to his friend.
Taiga was eating a slice of watermelon, arguing that putting a pinch of salt on it would make it tastier. Goro had made a face in disapproval.
Taiga was one year younger than he was. A big, serious boy with a buzz cut who tried to act older than he actually was, yet he would only end up as an emotional mess when he were to bottle things up for too long.
The memory lasted a moment, as he was sitting down on the balcony’s floor, hidden by its walls so that none of Sagawa’s lackeys would tattletale on his smoking habit.
He could have gone out, seeing how there was nobody home besides him.
But he didn’t.
He was scared that breaking the rules would mean being beaten up even more, by grown up men trying to kill Sagawa or by Sagawa himself. He was tired of being afraid,
of being locked up.
Another puff of smoke and he let the cigarette lay on his lips, while he took a hairband from his wrist and made a small ponytail on the higher part of his head. A sigh escaped his mouth, looking up.
There was no sky, only the grey, dirty concrete of the balcony from the flat upstairs.
What a bummer.
He put out the cigarette in a hash tray laying near him before standing up, and his eye caught movement in the garden of the nearby house. Three children playing. Or rather, two boys fighting and a girl cheering.
The scene had a sense of nausea creeping up in his throat. He frowned before going inside.
Goro was envying them.
He shut the balcony door with irritation and went straight in front of the TV, clicking the on button on the right and tuning in on his favourite show, which had already begun a little while ago. The pictures of flashy colours and glittery skirts of idols, the sweet tune of kind voices, the hosts smiling faces as they introduced a new girl group on stage. Everyone cheered for them. Everyone clapped. His frown slowly faded to make space for an amused smile, gazing at that make believe world, sitting down too close to the bulky TV set.
An hour passed by, as he hummed to the tunes or shook his head along with the girls’ movements, and to every new song, he would move a little further, drowsily laying on the carpet until the music was a calming lullaby in his sleep.
--
He looked at the knife,
the face of the man holding it was a dark shadow. Unimportant
His eyes twitching as it inched closer, blade shining into the light
He was tied up
That will teach him a lesson
The steel into his eye, sliding down, inside, in his body like a snake like a rabid spasm
He must scream but his voice was silent, his mouth open.
There is no blood.
Heartbeat drilling through his body
The blade falls on the floor with a loud
clap
--
“Goro-kun.”
The face above him was of a pouty thirty-five years old, black hair, almost as long as Goro’s, and tightly cut beard.
“I found you shaking.” The man remarked with a whiny voice. Noticing the lack of any kind of response from the teen, he clapped his hands again, making Goro jolt back into reality.
The boy grunted and sluggishly turned on his side to rub his face with both hands.
“Goro-kun, were you having a nightmare? Was it interesting?” The glee in the other’s voice unnerved him as he sighed out in exasperation.
“Shut up.”
“That’s how you talk to your uncle?”
Goro could feel the fake saddened expression the man had put up, twisting that almost rubber-like face of his, and at the same time the man had moved a hand to caress his hair in the same awkward way you would pet a puppy.
Goro’s face, hidden in his hands, grimaced. It felt nice, a gentle touch.
This is awful. This life, this all.
This is awful. Nauseating.
I want to leave.
The hand was slapped away and he roared back,
“You’re not my fucking uncle.” Goro glared at him, “Put it in your head, Nishitani.”
Nishitani clapped his hands again and his grin widened, grabbing Goro’s cheeks.
“That’s it, that’s it! Punch me, come on.” His hands clasped around the kid’s shoulders now, “I’ll teach you how to do it.”
They exchanged a look, before Goro’s frown deepened.
“Leave me be.”
The excitement in Nishitani’s face halted and disappeared as fast as it came, releasing the boy from his grasp. He stood up from the carpet and picked up a plastic bag that had been sitting near him.
“You’re no fun.”
Goro wanted to throw up.
His eye followed Nishitani into the see-through kitchen, as he put down something for dinner on the counter. Nishitani Homare was Sagawa’s partner. Work partner, life partner, whatever the hell they wanted it to be was none of Goro’s business. They had been living together since he was ten. Nishitani had the fame of being “crazy”, whatever that implied. Goro just thought Nishitani did whatever he wanted to do, it was rather admirable, he thought. It made him don’t really dislike Nishitani per se.
The way he treated Goro was more direct than Sagawa’s scheming and creepy fatherly protection, without too many dances around important matters; his violence was kinder. It seemed like Nishitani was waiting for Goro to snap and hit him back, but that never happened. The memories he had with Nishitani seemed almost normal, sometimes—eating together, going out to the karaoke.
The man had his moments of weakness for him, he could feel there was a twisted care for him Nishitani wasn’t able to convey in anything healthier than fights or absurd stunts.
At the same time, Goro thought it was somehow amusing how he would try teasing Sagawa all the time, showing how far a twenty years gap could make into a relationship.
Sagawa never seemed to care about that man living in their flat, which made the boy wonder if the two men had ever even liked each other.
Nishitani could be gone for weeks and Sagawa wouldn’t flinch. Nishitani could die, and he wouldn’t flinch.
And hearing of his death wouldn’t surprise anyone, as he was as unpredictable as one could be.
Nishitani was impressive.
“How was your first day of school?”
The chipper, mundane question came to Goro as something new. He was back on slouching, this time with his upper body resting on the sofa.
He avoided the question.
“Are you trying to cook?”
“What? I’m trying to provide.”
His whole being was heavy, so heavy he swore he could fall asleep there and then and never wake up.
Nishitani wasn’t a man to bear silence, especially when he was around without Sagawa nagging at him to shut up and the quiet of the apartment didn’t last for too long.
“So,” he begun, the noise of the fire being turned on, “does your eye hurt?”
“No.” Goro replied harshly.
“Well, you can’t see from it and shit, right?”
Goro’s face was down, hiding in the sofa’s cushion, hoping that would suffocate him to avoid talking altogether. His response was a muffled grunt.
“Oh. Come on.”
He heard the tumps of Nishitani’s bare feet on the wood before a hand grabbed Goro’s collar, lifting him up. The knife from his nightmare, shining once again from the neon light of the ceiling, Nishitani holding it. Even the almost faded paleness of his skin was drained out, leaving a white sheet in its place.
“Listen up, Goro-kun.” Nishitani used the blade to pat one of his cheeks as the boy’s only healthy eye panicked, blinking more than it was necessary, “You better grow a pair, life’s too short to mope around on some lost friend. Or an eye.” The man straightened back up, releasing Goro as he stared at him, betraying his shaken terror—hadn’t it been for the nightmare, his usual poker face would rise up and protect him from whatever backlash, whatever emotion. But in this case, it was too much. Today had been too much.
Guilt ran her fingers around Nishitani’s neck, gazing at that kid who, for once, seemed vulnerable to his eerie antics. He passed two fingers down the line of his beard, clearing his throat.
“Besides, you still have an eye. It just doesn’t work.”
“I’m blind.”
Goro stated with blunt resignation.
“Yeah, but,” Nishitani absentmindedly stabbed the knife in the couch as if it was nobody’s business, and pointed one finger to the kid, “see the positive side.”
“That is?”
“You put up a fantastic fight before Sagawa came in to save your ass.”
Goro wanted to cry at the man’s absolute detachment from his reality and yet, it was rather funny. It was like a big joke. See the positive side, laugh.
“He’s gonna kill you for that.” the kid nodded towards the knife and Nishitani glanced at it for a moment before breathing a quiet oh fuck. He pulled the knife out of the cushion and hopped back in the kitchen, as the smell of something burning was filling the air. Did he really stab a cushion, Goro wondered without even an inch of disbelief—it was just surreal, everything Nishitani did almost seemed like a figment of his imagination.
Breaking through his thoughts came the creaking of the front door, showing Sagawa’s figure tiredly walking in and taking off his shoes. The usual motion of softening the knot of his tie accompanied him closer to where Goro was lying down, motionless, as the man gave out an attempted grin.
“Hey, Goro-chan.”
“Darling, you’re home!” Nishitani exclaimed in a mocking feminine tone from the kitchen.
He was promptly ignored.
Sagawa patted the boy’s head just like he had done in the morning, dropping him off to school, as to reiterate how gentle he was trying to be. How Goro should collaborate, seeing this kindness bestowed upon him. Too drained to react, the teen closed his eye after Sagawa retreated his hand. He heard him throwing the jacket on the sofa and calmly walk over to the kitchen.
“What’s this?” Sagawa asked with the tone of a man who doesn’t really want or need an answer.
“I’m making dinner.”
“Move. I’m not gonna make him eat this garbage.”
Goro heard them arguing, about something. About anything.
He was too tired to care.