Takao was never really a good artist. That's what he tells his family and friends whenever they decide to drop by his cramped little studio. Okay, so it's not really a studio. That's what he likes to call his room. Paintings line the walls of his domain, splashes of colors here and there, with black and white dabbed somewhere every so often. The figures in his paintings and sketches are out of proportion and clumsy, kind of like something an autistic three year old who has just gotten his hands on crayons might draw.
Even if he's not all that wonderful with his hands and his perspective is a little off, he's always getting better at it. It's something that he loves more than almost anything. Ever since picking it up when he was ten, he had been hooked. Everyone has one real big passion in their life, right? His just happens to be messy and expensive.
Takao is leaning over his most recent portrait with care right now. He's using dark colored pastels right now, which are actually quite messy if you're not careful, and is making strong strokes along the white bumpy canvas. Earlier when he had gone down to the store to pick up his grandpa's ointment he had seen an interesting scene. One he just felt the need to put into picture-form. A few kids sitting on the street-curb with glass shards littered around their sneakers while cigarettes hung loosely from between their stubby fingers.
They were literally kids, probably even younger than Takao, and he was pretty young. Roughly about sixteen, that was, and his birthday had just passed. He was a summer baby, no doubt about it. The kids had been what grandpa would call "gangster" and what Hitoshi would call "bad influences", but Takao didn't feel the need to label them like that. They were just kids to him. Angry-looking, world weary, beaten down jaded kids.
And he thinks he's actually doing a good job on this portrait. Then again, Takao always thinks his portraits are amazing until he shows them to his very critical older brother. Once Hitoshi gives his opinions, Takao is usually ready to toss the thing into the trash and go cry into his pillow. Doesn't Hitoshi know that artists are sensitive? Apparently not. Hitoshi is a lawyer, so Takao supposes he shouldn't expect anything less.
He rubs his finger on the pastel to blend a color so that it appears to be faded. The fan to his left is working like crazy, pumping away, but he still feels a bead of sweat roll down his back. Grandpa doesn't want to run the air conditioning if he doesn't have to (he thinks it will teach endurance or something of that caliber). Even though Takao has told him many times that he has to because all of his paintings and sketches will be ruined if they become too hot and melt everywhere. Grandpa always just says, "The electricity is still running, T-man! Buy yourself some fans."
Takao uses his wrist to blend some colors now, because his hand is too dirty. If he had tried to use it the portrait would have messed up. Usually by the end of his art sessions Takao needs to take an hour shower, maybe even more if he's using something that is hard to get out of the skin. He doesn't do that too often, ever since he stained the run in the front of the house and got it good with the Shinai from grandpa.
Rub, blend, sketch, smudge, rub… it's a cycle that he keeps repeating for several hours. Hour after hour after hour. It's half the reason why he doesn't have all that many friends. He's too busy doing what he loves to bother with a social life. The only reason grandpa hasn't tossed him outside to get some fresh air is because of the recent influx of gangs. No one really knows how it started, or more precisely, no one really knows why the gangs have made themselves so known recently. It wasn't like this three summers ago, back when Takao used to fish in the river just on the edge of the park with his childhood friends.
Most people have been blaming the recent recession. The government hasn't been in the best shape and the prices of food and clothes have shot up dramatically, so much so that Takao hasn't even been getting new clothes. He's been getting Hitoshi's hammy downs, not too pleasant. People have lost their jobs (not anyone who Takao knows directly, but he's seen the news) and have been cutting their losses. Some kids have even been tossed out onto the streets. That's what Hitoshi says. "It's because they don't have anywhere else to go. They go into gangs, other kids who can relate to them are there, and run with them. It's like a family." Grandpa usually says something in retaliation, but Takao usually tunes him out before that. It's not like it affects him, right?
He blows on the portrait gently so the dust that has settled on it will be blown away. He doesn't want to smudge the painting unnecessarily and ruin it. He's drawing this scene from his memory, which is surprisingly good, but it isn't exactly as he wanted it to be. He sighs and pushes the canvas away.
Another day, another failure. Grandpa pushes his door open, "T-man! Why don't you go outside and get some fresh air, yo? You've been locked in this cocoon all day and night! I'd ask if you have a girl in here, but I don't think you're that lucky." Takao looks up from where he's crouching. "Thanks, Grandpa. Geez! I've just been sketching," he says with a slight edge, "And shouldn't you be bothering Hitoshi about that kind of thing? He's old."
The old man shrugs his grandson off, "My statement stands, man! And look at your hands, people are going to think we don't let you bathe!" "Well you don't turn on the Air Conditioning, so it could be possible!" Takao says, all ready to go on his usual rant about the temperature in his room, but Grandpa just tosses something at him. Takao catches instinctively and stares at the keys in his hands. They're house keys.
"Grandpa…" Takao says, wondering what the old man means by this, but when Takao looks back up, the elderly man is gone. His message is pretty clear, though. It's get out of the house. Takao shoves the keys into the pocket of his jeans, whatever happened to that fear about those gangs? Hitoshi isn't home as usual so Takao can't even ask to bum a ride over to Max's house. Max is this kid he's friends with, he's a good kid. Athletic, smart, usually rational, and a little quirky. He has this love affair with mayo which is pretty weird but everyone has their odds and ends.
This means that he'll have to walk. Takao doesn't much care for physical effort, like running and walking. He always scores last in the running tests in gym. He's pretty notorious for it. He brushes his hands against his jean which leaves streaks of black and whatever other color he has caking his hands. His arms are also pretty covered, but those are brighter colors like pink and blue, so no one will think its soot or something nasty like that.
He does change his shirt though, mostly because he's wearing one that says Celine Dion in huge black letters. The shirt itself is pink, a bright nauseating pink, one that Takao would never be caught dead in outside his room. It was a gift from Hitoshi when he went on a business trip somewhere in America. He yanks it off and tosses it back into his closet. He has a strict five-wears-before-wash policy. This is because he has to do his own laundry. Ever since he turned fifteen he was deemed old enough to work the washing machine and dryer by himself, and ever since he turned fifteen his clothes have been perpetually sooty and stained.
He grabs something less embarrassing, a shirt with different colored footprints all over it, and pulls it over his head. From what he can hear grandpa is working on his thrusts in the dojo, something Takao should also be doing, but he shirks that duty just like he shirks everything else that isn't art or food. He shoves his feet into a pair of white sneakers that are also stained, but these are stained from numerous treks through the park on rainy days. And Takao isn't the type to walk around the puddles of mud.
The banging from the dojo becomes more exaggerated and precise. It's a warning to Takao that if he doesn't get out of the house soon he's going to get a thrashing. The artist almost leaves skid marks as he slides out the front door and to the sidewalk.
Max is home when he shows up, which is good. But Max is doing chores when he shows up, which is bad. "Why don't you help Max out" his dad asks, "That way it'll get done quicker!" Geez, Takao doesn't like to do chores at his own house. This is why he doesn't like parents all that much. They always feel the need to make their kids work, and when their friends come by; make their kid's friends work too. His grandpa is like that too.
Max laughs slightly with a somewhat nervous air, "Don't worry about it! I got it, I got it! I don't need help, ha-ha!" Takao feels Max's dad's eyes burning into his back, and the artist resists a sigh. The blond clearly isn't going to be done repairing the fence around the house anytime soon, and it would suck if Max's dad thought he was a good for nothing kid. Which he was. But he wasn't a heartless good for nothing kid.
Max beats a nail into the fence and Takao holds the plank up in place. "So he just tossed you the keys?" Max asks as he swings away, and Takao nods. "Just like that! Geez, and he's the one always going on about how this girl got killed and about how this guy went missing." Max looks thoughtful for a second, "Maybe he's just trying to let you become more independent?" Max has a tiny lisp when he talks, Takao notices. Huh.
"… I doubt it," Takao says as he hoists up another piece of wood for Max to hammer in, "Maybe my constant presence in the house just finally got to him." Max laughs, "Maybe! You do spend days in your room. Days. And you didn't even pick up your phone when I called you!" Takao sends Max a surprised glance as he uses a hand to dig in the pocket of his jeans. "Called me?" he pulls out the phone and flips it open with a finger, "… Five missed calls!? The phone didn't even ring!" "Do you even check, Taka?" Max asks with a hair toss, "You might miss something important!"
"Aw, c'mon Maxie. Nothing important ever happens in the summer. Not to me." Takao goes through his missed text messages, and there's one from the Chief, a dorky looking kid he's also friends with. "Hey Maxie, what day is today?" the artist asks as he shoots the blond a look. Max pushes another plank into place and takes a breath. These pieces of wood are heavier than they look. And they looked pretty heavy to begin with. "Today..? Takao, your birthday just passed like, a week and a half ago! Are you really that out of it?"
"Just answer, c'mon! The Chief wants me to meet him somewhere some night, and I don't know when that is! And it'd be stupid to leave him hanging. He got mugged twice last month!" Max blinks, "Really? I thought he was mugged three times." Takao shakes his head, "Nah, he hid in a dumpster before they could take anything." Max flips open his own cell phone, which is much nicer than Takao's, and presses a few buttons.
"You do know there's a calendar installed on your phone, right?" Max says, and Takao slams the hammer on top of a nail sticking out of the fence, "Yeah, I know. But I can never find it! They hid it and encrypted it with some sort of code so it'll remain hidden forever."
"I thought you leaned how to use your phone beyond calls and texting," Max laughs. Takao just sticks his tongue out at the blond. "Today… the nineteenth!" Max says with triumph, "Wednesday!" "Aw, man, really?" Takao says with a slight whimper, "That means I have to get down to the docks by tonight. He wants me there at eight; he says he has something to show me." "You're lucky your grandpa decided to make you come back to reality today, then, or he might have been left all alone. I know. I'll go with you!" the athlete says as he stands and kicks the fence. It wobbles, but it remains erect.
"I think we're done with this, anyway," he finishes. "Sure thing," Takao says as he also stands up. He's slightly taller than Max, but not by much. And the Chief is shorter than the both of them. "Sounds good to me. Are you going to have to sneak out again?" Max's dad was a little strict when it came to curfew, lately everyone's parents had been pretty strict about being home before dark. It was an unspoken rule that Takao had to be home before the streetlights went on . But that's the thing. It was an unspoken rule. It had never actually been clarified, so Takao was free to break it as he pleased! Forget the fact that grandpa had never mentioned it because Takao never left the house.
But Max's dad wasn't so senile. Max blinks and rubs the back of his neck, "Ha-ha, again? Last time I did that he burst in the room seconds after I climbed back in the window, you know." Takao grins, "I know! What was your explanation for being all sweaty again?" Max blushes now and just mutters, "Jerk." Takao laughs and laughs.
Turns out that Max doesn't need to sneak out after all. Takao is a pretty smooth talker, when he wants to be.
"And she broke up with me," Takao sobs in a fit of fake hysteria, "Just like that! I need Max's moral support tonight, please! My grandfather said a sleepover would be okay – I just need my absolute best friend at my side in my time of need." Max's dad looks stricken, "That's terrible, Takao! What was her name?"
Max is in a state of pure hilarity. Takao looks around quickly, trying to think of something off the top of his head. "H-Her name? … Uh. Uh. It. Hurts me to say." Max's dad nods his head, his face completely understanding. Sometimes Max thinks that Takao should be an actor, forget the whole paint on canvas artist. He is far too over-dramatic not to be on stage somehow. So Max packs an overnight bag and slings it over his shoulder while Takao goes on and on about how his heart is broken.
They walk in the direction of Takao's house as Max's dad watches them leave, but they quickly dart in the direction of the docks when the man goes back inside to watch some football. They crouch over and whisper to each other, despite the fact that this completely unnecessary. "How long will we be there?" Max whispers, "My dad might call your house at… ten? Maybe? He usually does that kind of thing." "Shouldn't be too long," Takao whispers back, "Isn't this fun? The adrenaline! The possibility of getting caught and getting grounded forever."
Max makes a face and shoves Takao to the side, and the artist giggles like a girl. They duck along the bushes along the road to the dock as they go, just in case someone who knows Max's dad spots them. But oddly enough, it seems like no one else is out. They're actually doing this for fun now. They pretend to be ninjas as they go, their arms spread out and everything. They're really stupid for sixteen year olds. Or is that the norm?
The docks are pretty much empty, even though it's only seven o'clock. The sun goes down around this time and the streetlights are flickering, but Takao doesn't care. He's a little early but the Chief has always been known for being punctual. Extremely punctual. So punctual that he was probably there around six o'clock. Takao walks along the path to the warehouse number seven with Max beside him. The gravel crunches beneath their feet as they walk, and a chill drifts along with the wind from the ocean.
Takao gets a bad feeling, a tight feeling, in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't say anything to Max about it because he doesn't want to worry the blond. Maybe he just ate something bad? It was entirely possible. If he had said something, however, he would have been informed about the hairs on the back of Max's neck and how they were standing up. But Max doesn't want to freak his friend out. They're both stupid like that.
Takao pulls the warehouse door open slowly with effort. It's a heavy door that creaks reluctantly as he pulls, and Max even gives him a hand with it. Takao half expects there to be darkness inside to greet him, but the lights are actually on. And inside the Chief is sitting in a chair with his laptop on his lap. He's typing away at that thing like there's no tomorrow. He probably wouldn't have even looked up from the screen if the breeze hadn't brushed his skin.
He looks up and grins, "Takao! And Max, hey! Hi guys!" He's waving his tiny hand now and gesturing for the other boys to step inside, "Close the door behind you, please! The ocean really brings a draft, doesn't it?" Takao yanks the door closed and Max walks up to the Chief, "Long time no see, Chief? When was the last time?" The Chief grins up at the taller boy, "Oh, I don't know! Just about a week and a half, maybe? Ever since Takao's birthday!"
"What about me?" Takao asks as he blows on Max's neck. Max jumps and rubs the back of his neck tenderly, "Hey! That's creepy, don't do that!" Takao laughs and then flips his hand at Max, "So why are we here, Chief?" He looks around. There are a ton of crates lining the walls of the warehouse and a bunch of large square shaped things covered with sheets around them. The Chief chuckles and looks pleased with himself, "This is your belated birthday present, Takao! I would have asked you to come here earlier but they wouldn't have been here earlier. And tomorrow they'll be gone."
"What are you talking about?" the artist asks with slight excitement, "What is it?" Max looks interested. The Chief gestures to the sheet-covered objects behind him, "Here. Just pull the sheets off! It's okay. No one will know." Takao gives the Chief a curious look and then walks up to one of them cautiously. He tugs on the sheet and doesn't move. Another tug. Nothing. Finally he just tears it off, which proves to be mostly effective.
It's one of the most beautiful paintings Takao has ever seen. The dark colors and bright splotches, the people, the scene. He stares at it with his mouth open. The Chief rests his hands on his hips and raises his chin a little bit, "Great gift, huh? You can't have it, of course, it's going in the museum tomorrow, but. You can have your own little viewing." Max pulls off the other sheets because Takao is too busy standing agape at that single painting. Eventually Max has to lead him to another one, which is equally amazing, and he gets stuck at that one too.
"Chief, you … how did you do this?" he asks after a good half an hour of staring agape and being generally shocked. "I just pulled some strings is all," responds the shorter boy with joy laced in his voice, "I'm so glad you like it!" "How could I not?" the artist says as he closes in on one of the paintings. Max approaches the Chief and whispers so that only he can hear, "So? How'd you do it?" The Chief smirks a little bit, "Well, my dad is friends with the shipping company they used to ship it. They don't exactly know that there's a private viewing going on now."
Max grins and rests his hands on his hips. It's all well and good until they hear the voices. The voices of kids other than them. Max is the one who hears them first, "Guys! I think we've got company! What should we do?" The Chief looks alarmed, "There shouldn't be anyone else here! I mean – I don't see why anyone else our age would be… oh, no! It must be a gang! They might have meetings around here, we need to hide! Takao!"
The black haired boy turns and looks at his friends, "You want to hide? Why!? It's a free country!" Max just shakes his head and grabs Takao's arm, "Takao! They might be dangerous. We've got to hide. Quick, behind those crates!" The blond has to forcibly pull the artist behind a stack of crates and, more efficiently, into the shadows. The chief flicks off the switch and hurries over to them, almost sliding across the floor to the comfort of his friends.
They're lucky Max is such a quick thinker, because the door of Warehouse Number Seven is pulled open. The kids are clearly what grandpa would call delinquents, Takao can tell that from the way they talk and carry themselves. He doesn't even need to see them. But when they finally do come into view, Takao can see that they're very very tough looking. Way tougher than those kids on the curb.
They're talking to each other.
"Is this the place?" A rough voice, that's very deep.
"Yeah." A softer voice, smooth, but sharp at the same time.
Some laughter.
The Chief is shaking in his boots, "G-Guys…" he whispers, "I think those are the Blade Sharks. They're one of the toughest gangs in the city." Max looks at him with wide blue eyes and Takao just looks confused, "But they don't look any older than us!" "Shhhhh!" Max and the Chief slam their hands over Takao's mouth at the same time.
One of the blade sharks looks around, "Did you guys hear something? I'm telling you! I'm being haunted by ghosts!"
"Places are haunted, not people, dumbass." Someone else says.
"That's not true! I heard about this guy named John who was haunted by his whore ex-girlfriend he killed…"
"God, man, don't even joke like that. I had a girlfriend named Jean. John and Jean almost sound the same! …Do you think she's haunting me?"
"Would you guys shut up?"
The guy with the soft voice is the one who tells them to shut their traps. Takao peeks out to get a look a look at the guy who shut up everyone else with just a sentence. He's built, has weird colored hair, and even weirder colored eyes. They're like, a mix of red and purple. And god is he built. Is this guy really sixteen? Seventeen? …Eighteen? He doesn't look much older than Takao, but that body. Takao is a string-bean in comparison!
"Just do it."
They're destroying everything. Takao watches in pure shock – the boys are knocking the paintings down and stomping all over them. Some boys are pouring what smells like vodka all over some of them, and others are tearing away at the canvases with switch knives and even their fingernails. The Chief is flabbergasted and Max is stunned, they're all white in the face. The built one – the one Chief whispered to be called Kai – watches on with this dangerously pleased look on his face.
"Oi, Kai!" says another, who the Chief has pegged as Carlos, "Why are we doing this again?" "Why do you care?" Kai asks, "You get to have your fun destroying things, don't you?" Carlos shrugs but doesn't ask any more questions. He was pushing it, asking just one. Takao can't just sit there and allow such art be destroyed! He can't!
So he pushes Max and the Chief away and bursts out of the shadows, "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING." And much to his amazement, everyone does stop.
Takao blinks, "… Oh, wow. Huh. I didn't plan this far in advance."
The one they call Kai looks over at him and raises a brow. Carlos cracks his knuckles, "Looks like we will get some blood tonight!"
Takao wants to flee, but he knows he's doomed. "… Nice day, huh?"
They approach him.
AN: Thanks for giving my story a shot! Huh. This one actually came into my mind right out of left field. I just had this urge to get it down on paper, so here you go! It'll probably be wrapped up in a short number of chapters (definitely less than ten) with a cute little semi-pairing (Takao and Kai duh I rarely write anything else unless it is onesided) and a cute little story. Uh. Yeah. Oh also there is tons of foreshadowing in here and I am so proud of that, ha-ha. Rei will also be in this story! I'm going to try to bring in everyone I can and kind of mesh early season one with season three in the course of … development? Plus I want to use the characters from season three too so this is a cop-out. It's AU, naturally, and everyone is older because we cannot have twelve year olds running around.