"Coming Clean": In Which Hayato's Life Ends Then Starts Again

Coming out is messy business. Sure, you feel wonderful and liberated afterwards, but what many people don't realize is that the 'afterwards' may not come for another year, five years, a decade. To be frank, coming out of the closet, especially if you were so far in that you could see Narnia, is fucking terrifying. You have to worry about other people's opinions of you, of how they might react; your brain goes into overdrive analyzing every single thing that could go wrong. And then, the big day comes and you aren't ready; you are unprepared and you just want to hop on a plane and get the hell out of there. Sometimes, though, you have to be careful about what you wish for.

"You wanted to see me?"

One of the worst times in 'coming out' season is confronting your parents. No matter the person, no matter the family situation, it's your parents' reactions that will, ultimately, build you up or break you down. To make matters more difficult, a father who always gets his way and doesn't listen to an ounce of reason could tear you apart, broken heart particle by broken heart particle. With no mother to speak of and a sister who you'd rather have dead, family meetings of this caliber are not something to look forward to.

"Yes. It has come to my attention that... you may be misguided."

Heh. Misguided. That's the term he uses? The word he labels as being different from him, as being an individual? He makes me fucking sick.

"What do you mean by 'misguided', Father?"

I don't even know why I call him Father anymore. He never has and never will be a Dad to me. He's been nothing but business all my life. But, here I am, being berated in his office like a little kid and all I can do is just stand here and call him 'Father'. It's disgusting.

"There have been rumors floating around the household that you-"

Here it comes. He's thinking of how to put this in 'politically correct' terms; God forbid I tarnish his golden reputation. The bastard.

"- have fraternized with a person of the same gender."

He can't just full out say that I made out with another guy? Well, that's too fucking bad. I was drunk and didn't know what the hell I was doing and neither did the other guy. But, excuse me, oh Mighty Head of the House, for not being straight with a stick up my ass like you.

"And if I did?"

"Then I would say: Get Out."

He-He couldn't be serious. No way in the seven levels of hell was this man serious. That would be outrageous; blatant homophobia against his only son who had always done everything he had asked for. Everything. For what? To be kicked out of my family; the only one I had? All I could do was nod and look down, words catching in my throat like an animal in a cage.

"Yes, sir."

"I expect you to be out of my house in twenty minutes. You will have no contact with your sister or I and you will be cut from the inheritance by noon, today."

" I understand."

That was a lie. A total fucking huge neon sign of a lie. I didn't understand a damn thing that was going on. When were being gay, or even bisexual, grounds for disowning anyone? When was being attracted to the same gender a fucking crime? I was fuming as I walked out of my "father's" office for the last time, jaw clenched in pain and anger. On my way to my room-Excuse me, my old room- Bianchi slipped out of the shadows and walked next to me. With her, I had no problem expressing my hatred. I wasn't afraid of her; she wasn't anything to me.

"What the fuck do you want, bitch? Here to kick me while I'm down?"

Her face was that of an abused puppy, hurt yet still hopeful. When will she get it through her thick skull that I will never love her?

"No...No, Hayato. I-I just wanted to give this to you before you left."

She slipped a wallet into my pocket and ducked down the nearest hallway so she wouldn't have to face my inevitable wrath. I'm not some fucking charity case she can just pick up. I've been kicked out and disowned; I'm not on my deathbed or anything like that. What the hell is wrong with her?

As soon as I was sure that she was gone, I peeked into the wallet, only to throw it at the wall, leaving a dent. That's the final message she wants to fucking send me? Goodbyes, good riddance, don't bother coming back? A fucking one-way ticket to bloody New York, New York, USA. As far away from me as she and Dad can get, huh? Well, I'll take it; I'll take it and not look back once, the hypocritical bitch. Who's the abused one now, 'Sis'?

It took all of the twenty minutes for me to throw on some travelling clothes, pack a single bag, zip up my guitar case, and call a cab. There was no way in this lifetime that I would even touch one of my father's cars now, let alone drive myself to the Naples Airport. The ticket said my flight left at nine o'clock and it was already eight-thirty. I shoved my things in the trunk of the taxi, slammed the door, and flipped off the entire estate as my "heartfelt goodbye". At eight thirty-five I was on the highway headed towards a future that I was sure I didn't fucking want.

Homeless and abandoned and I hadn't even eaten breakfast yet. What a way to start the day from Hell.

"Dream On": In Which Takeshi Lives To See Another Dawn

Apparently, even the earliest of birds find it distasteful for anyone to try and get the worm at four in the morning. Also, apparently, Takeshi Yamamoto has no problem charming those very same birds with a sleepy grin and a bagful of bread crumbs. Fortunately for the scatter-brained baseball player, both the birds and his fellow tenants were used to pipes running and doors closing at ungodly hours in the morning.

Takeshi knew that he didn't have to get up this early to see the sunrise, after all, it was winter and no light would be showing until around seven, but that didn't stop him from the routine he had fallen into years ago. Still half-asleep, he threw on some warmer clothes and grabbed his wallet, keys, and two bananas before jogging down the twelve flights of stairs. Taking them two at a time, he reached the lobby in no time and forced himself to face the below freezing weather of December in New York. On the corner of Main Street and 75th Avenue, Herman was sitting in his usual spot near the Kosher Restaurant's dumpster.

"Good morning, Mr. Crowley!"

Herman Crowley smiled at the young man who had been nothing but kind to the older veteran. Each morning the boy never failed to bid him a warm welcome and share some food with him.

"How many times have I told you that an old man like me doesn't deserve the title Mister, anymore?"

"Haha, about every morning..."

Every morning was darn right, Herman mused. Looking at the man's hands, which were foolishly devoid of gloves, he spotted two yellow fruits and grinned. This boy sure did love his bananas.

"So, how are you today, Takeshi?"

Keshi flashed the homeless man a toothy grin and plopped down next to him on the cold cement. Not once did he think that it might be considered strange for a major-league baseball player to be sharing an early morning snack with a bum off the streets. After all, this was just another part of his morning routine.

"I'm good! That sticky note trick you told me about really worked and now I know that I'm meeting a friend for lunch today.~"

Herman chuckled and peeled back the skin from his banana, tentatively taking a bite of the grainy fruit.

"I told ya it would help you remember things. Say, do you have practice at all?"

"Nope! He decided it was too cold for us to meet today, plus that storm that's on its way. I'm a free man!"

"At least until Monday when you go back to work."

Takeshi laughed loudly at the other man's dry humor before finishing off the first part of his breakfast and standing up. Stretching, he popped his still-stiff joints and grinned widely.

"Well, have a good day, Mr. Crowley! See you tomorrow morning!"

With a final wave over his shoulder, the chipper twenty-four year old continued his three mile run to the park, his haunting grounds in the early hours. It took another good thirty minutes to make it the rest of the way safely, without accidentally running into a stray partier or the occasional car.

It was five by the time he got to the southern section of the park where the lake and trails were. Slowing down to a walk, Keshi tilted his head up to look at the dark sky. Had it already been five years since he moved to New York? Had it really been three whole years since Dad's death? Time just seemed to fly by when you were busy making your future better than your past.

Wandering onto the playground and sitting on the swings, Takeshi took a few moments to relax and just enjoy the quiet atmosphere that reminded him of home. Home. Namimori, Japan. It was well over 9,000 miles (15,000 kilometers) away from where he was at the moment. At least, Keshi thought, I have some of my childhood friends here in New York. It was true, in fact, that, all on their own, a few of his old pals had migrated to New York City in hopes of opportunity. To his profound luck, he had even been able to contact one of them, a Ryohei Sasagawa, and arrange lunch with him that very day.

After another hour or so of aimless thinking, Takeshi headed over to the grassy area near the lake to rest a bit before his morning ritual came to a close. He took a deep breath and, once again, tipped his head to the now lightening sky.

"Hey, Dad. How are you? Did you get a good night's sleep? I know you always told me that sleeping well and a healthy breakfast were important, so you'd be happy to know that I had both. Herman and I ate bananas this morning instead of the oranges since I ran out. ...Do you guys even have fruit up there? I mean, I'd think so. Who could live without it, right?"

This was Takeshi's time with his dad, the only time of the day that he cherished more than playing baseball. He closed his eyes and continued talking to his father, whom he was positive was listening.

"Haha, I'm going out to lunch with Ryohei today. Do you remember him, Dad? He was in the year above me in school, but we would run together and train. When I talked to him on the phone, he said that he was a personal trainer now at a gym somewhere in Manhattan. He also said that he worked part-time at a high-school teaching health and wellness. Haha, can you believe that? That loudmouth guy grew up and is a teacher now! I'm really excited to see him again since it's been awhile that I've seen anyone."

The young man trailed off and opened his eyes slowly, staring across the water and into the rising sun. He and his father used to have this tradition of getting up early on Saturday mornings, when the sane people of Namimori were asleep, and climbing onto the roof to watch the sunrise. Laying here and now on the other side of the world, on grass instead of cement, surrounded by the big city instead of the small town, Takeshi still felt as if he were sixteen again, sitting with his father at the top of the world.

As the dawn broke over New York City, the baseball player let his eyes slip shut and his mind be put at ease. For a little while, at least, he could enjoy the peace of fond memories and warm laughter before moving on with his day. There was just something about the tranquil, new morning that made Takeshi think that it would be a good one.

"Me Against the World": In Which Hayato Gets Proverbial Shit Thrown At Him

I am not, under any circumstances, superstitious. However, when a simple, angry comment turns into karma coming back to bite you in the ass, I begin to question my beliefs. Getting kicked out of your own house because your "dad" found out you were gay? I can deal with that, eventually. Having your 'Wicked Bitch of the West' of a stepsister shove you on a one-way plane? It doesn't even affect me, anymore. But, being stuck on said airplane in between a newly wedded couple and tourist family with a dead iPod? I'd rather shove clothespins into my fucking eyes. Not to mention the fact that there was a god damn delay in the flight and we had to fly in fucking circles for an hour before we were able to land. Needless to say, my day officially got worse.
I stepped off the plane already hating America and their idiotic piloting system. So, it didn't help when a true moron of a human being stopped me on my way to get my guitar from the baggage line.

"Excuse me, sir? Could you come over here please?"

What the hell was it now? Couldn't this guy see that I wanted nothing more than to grab my shit and get the fuck out of there? I'm sure my facial expression was far from friendly, so what did he want? Regardless of my rising anger, I responded calmly with the air of a frequent traveler, my accent barely detectable.

"Yes, what is it that you need?" I narrowed my eyes, "It is getting late."
"Oh, well, we-we randomly select passengers for a pat down in the airport..."

The man trailed off when he saw my furious expression. Randomly, my ass! Just because I had piercings and ripped jeans and jewelry doesn't mean he can fucking stereotype me as some trouble making punk. Pissed, I drew myself to my full height, even though it was only an inch taller than him, and glared down at the guard, right on the edge of snapping.

"I do not see anyone else getting the same treatment. Was I mistaken in believing that I could escape stereotyping in America, the home of the free?"

The guy was fucking cowering, now, backing away without even attempting to defend himself or to go through with the check.
"I-I truly am s-sorry, sir. I didn't mean a-any harm. Please, have a n-nice day..."
With that, he stumbled and walked away from me as fast as he could. Good, I don't need any fucking bastards getting in my hair right now. I grumbled to myself about America as I snatched my guitar from the rotating belt holding a bunch of other people's crap. It was easy to spot my bag among the sea of black and tan, the case was cloth, yes, but it was also a fiery red that no one could miss.

Growling, I stalked out of the airport; as soon as I was outside, though, I wanted to immediately turn tail and seek refuge in the warm hellhole I had exited. It was just like my "father" to kick me out in the middle of fucking winter. I had only had enough time to pull on a leather jacket over my t-shirt and, of course, I was too fucking stupid to think to bring a hat or scarf or boots. Already I could feel the December cold seeping in through my hi-tops and my holey jeans; great, just what I always fucking wanted, to freeze to death.

I followed the signs by the street towards a subway that was, thank God, right next to the airport. My fingers fumbled a bit with getting the money out to buy a ticket, but I was soon able to work my way through the after-hours crowd and to a bench. Heaving a sigh as I sank into the cold metal, I let my head fall back and my eyes squeeze shut.

Here I am in New York fucking New York, United States of America. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. I've always heard people say that this place was wonderful, amazing, and full of life, but all I could see was cold, huge, and damned annoying.

"Hey there, are you alright?"
Oh great, exactly what I needed right now. Some stupid American who doesn't know how to stay in their own business. I dragged myself into a sitting position and turned to face my intruder, unintentionally coming nose to nose with a very un-American looking man.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Oh yeah, real smooth Hayato. Curse at the first person you meet in the country that isn't a security guard.
"My name's Takeshi Yamamoto! Haha, you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?"

Okay, so it was fairly obvious that this guy was anything but American. Though, all that New York baseball crap he's sporting does throw me off. And, come on, I thought New Yorkers were supposed to be all 'Get out of my face' not 'Oh, what's your name'.

"Yes, I am fucking dandy. Could you do me a favour and get out of my face?"
Guess I'm more of a freaking New Yorker than the god damn New Yorker himself. He moved back a bit, laughing at himself. I couldn't tell if he was crazy, on meds, or just that fucking happy all the time.

"You don't sound too 'fucking dandy'. Had a bad day?"

He's smiling. The fucktard is actually smiling at me after making a comment like that. I swear, if murder wasn't illegal he'd be six feet under right now.
"Do not even fucking start with me about bad days."
"Ooh, that rough, huh?"

Oh my mother of fucking baby Jesus. This guy is going to get strangled soon if he doesn't shut that gaping hole he calls a mouth. Ignoring him, I rummaged through my pockets to get my cell phone. If I wasn't going to sleep on the streets tonight, I'd better call him sooner than later. I pressed down on the power button and waited for the phone to turn on. Five seconds passed then ten then twenty. I held the button but got the same response. Nothing.

"Fucking hell."

"Here," An iPhone with an obnoxious bright blue case was shoved under my nose, "You can use mine."

Was he serious? After I cussed him out and acted like the antisocial asshole I was, he's still letting me borrow his phone. This guy is some sort of psycho. Nodding my thanks, I grabbed the phone and zipped open my guitar case. Hidden in a pouch was my lyric notebook where I had written down my friend's number. I ripped out the page and placed the spiral on the bench beside me as I punched in the numbers on the touch screen.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before he picked up.

"Tsunayoshi Sawada, speaking. How may I help you?"

As soon as I heard the voice of my best friend from university, I calmed down, sinking into my seat with a sigh.

"Look at you acting like a boss..."

"G-Gokudera! Why are you calling on a strange number?"
Figuring that since this was, technically, a new start for me, that I wouldn't give a fucking damn what anyone thought about me. Especially not some overly cheerful baseball idiot who lets me borrow his phone.

"My dad- Geronimo- kicked me out."
"What! Why? Are you okay? Where are you staying? Is there anyth-"
"Tenth, Tenth. Calm down. He-He found out about my sexuality and disowned me."

There was silence on the other end for a minute as Tsuna took in the information. When he responded, his usually high-pitched voice was deepened with anger and concern.

"Where are you right now? Are you safe?"
"I am in New York, actually. Bianchi, the bitch, slipped me a one-way ticket before I left."

"You're here? Where? I can pick you up and you can stay at my place. I was just about to eat but if you need he-"

Once again I cut off his rambling. It was nice to have someone so worried about me, but if I wanted to get a word in edgewise, I'd have to interrupt.

"Relax, Tsuna. That is why I called you. I am at the subway station next to the airport in Queens. I do not have your address anymore, so I wanted to know how to get to your apartment."
"Oh, alright. You better be careful though. Those subways can be dangerous, especially for a foreigner like you..."
"I think you are forgetting that you are a foreigner too and you survive just fine. The directions, Tenth, please?"

He instructed me to take the train to Brooklyn and get off at some stop called Rockaway Parkway. Apparently, it was starting to storm outside, so, he said he would pick me up in his neighbor's car.

"Thank you, again. Hey, what were you going to eat? I am going to starve to death."
"Um, Chinese. I can save some for you if you'd like; Kyoko had to cancel our date, so, there'll be plenty."

I smiled fondly at the thought of Tsuna and his girlfriend of one month, Kyoko. I was happy for him finding someone who was his 'soul mate', as he'd say.

"That would be fucking great, Tsuna. I should be there in twenty minutes."

We said our goodbyes and, feeling much lighter than before, I handed back the baseball idiot his phone.

"I apologize for being an asshole earlier. It was... charitable for you to lend me your cell phone."
" Haha, I think I should be the one saying sorry. I didn't realize your day really was that bad."

He had a hand behind his head looking positively sheepish. Good, serves the bastard right. Even though he was unnecessarily kind enough to me, he still shouldn't have butted in.
A few minutes later, my train rolled in and, only having a small amount of time to board, I ran off to get on. Behind me, I heard a voice yelling and some rather loud scrambling to get off the bench.

"HEY! YOU FORGOT YOUR-"

I turned around just as the doors were closing. The baseball idiot, with his bag in tow, was waving a black notebook in the air. My black notebook. Oh, shit. Oh, fucking shit of all shits in the world. Why was I so fucking stupid!
The train roared out of the station and I was barely able to make out the guy's last word before I was whisked off to Brooklyn.

"-notebook..."