Once upon a time, there lived a man named Liu Feilong. He's so stupid Asami Ryuchi killed him.
The exactly anyway. But he was about to be dead by the looks of it.
(Takaba Akihito included.)
Asami sneered, all shine and sparkle.
"Since your hearing seems to be impairedーI shall repeat." Takaba shivered in his bowed position. A blue phone was slid within sight.
"What in the world... is this?"
Takaba gulped. His cellphone. An email. A single email. An email from Feilong
To add; Asami had read it.
This can never be good.
(Even if it was, by some miracle, no one would admit it.)
"I thank you for replying to the initial email, dear.
With that attitude of yours; I devise that you are well. Tao misses you very much. He's been asking for you.
I think I'd have time to pay a visit, for Hanami will come soon. Make sure to clear your appointments and wait for me, dear. Tell what you'd like for a present, dear. On that note, that option of coming to Hong Kong is still available, yes dear? You should reconsider that impudent one someday.
I hope you have a Happy Halloween. ❤️💛💙🔫🚬🎃👻💋🍡👙
[PS: Apple has new 'emoji' features. Quite useful, no?]"
Billions of 'Dear's.' Reconsider that impudent one. A zillion heart emojis...
Damned bastard really ought to start something.
Takaba tutted, glaring at the mat.
His hands ached for a knife.
Feilong-
"... ..."
Really does not know how use emojisーDoes he?
(Somewhere in Hong Kong, a man named Liu Feilong sneezed.)
Few hours ago, Takaba had been lamenting. About himself, his happiness, his—well—life. Wondering what the hell he was achieving by being a happy-go-lucky piece of shit.
He pulled a disgusted face at nothing, then went back to fiddling with the numerous keys.
This sucks dick.
So hard.
He's never liked dust. Nor liked cleaning it on days when he wasn't supposed to. (Takaba cursed his editor to depths of hell.) But the cleaning lady wasn't in. And even if Japan wasn't heavy on western holidays, it didn't take a genius to figure out that no other will work on Halloween night. Of which was confirmed by calling numerous establishments. Takaba's heart felt heavy with rejection. (Maybe it had something do with, "women do the cleaning" and he wasn't a woman.)
But aside that: the apartment was dirty. Germ don't celebrate holidays. It's not like they'd clean themselves up either, no matter how much he'd wished they did. Takaba sighed and focused on opening the door.
'Clink.' Not this one.
'Clink.' Not that one either.
His brow twitched.
'Clinck.' Nope. Takaba tried again. As expected, the key didn't work.
"... ..."
Takaba's hands ceased motions. Relaxed and revelled.
He took a deep breath.
Silence.
Calm down.. It's okay. A magic called 'self-counselling' would probably work. Calm down... Calm down... Calm... down.
"... ..."
FUCKING GOD WHICH IS THE DAMNED KEY TO THIS DOOR-
.
Maybe one day, ordinary people like him might have robots, for these types of work. Technology was powerful enough. And it'd give his back a rest. ("Yes master," cleaner no: 23 would state, "I have visited your friend. Sir, I am obliged to visit mine too. He doesn't have much time left. There has been a leakage of water in his system, I sense his anguish. 'He doesn't feel pain,' you say... Ah- disappointing. Why see only see to the livelihood of your own kind? Are us robo-cleaners not the descendants of the world too?")
"Sleeping soundly 'till noon-the least he could do is be awake. Such an ass..." Takaba snorted, fiddling with keys to the storeroom. He unlocked the door, and picked up his broom.
The key to this room had been in Asami's locker for ages, never to opened. Even the cleaners didn't bother asking for it.
No wonder that it's dirty, Takaba rubbed a pair of dust covered fingers together, a whole two inches of dirt in between.
He scowled at a pile of box, kicking to check if they're hollow. iDoes he even need all these boxes?/i They're not, so he bent down to the ice-cold floor.
"-Oh my god."
Cans to mini sewing kits. This little room was probably the most dust filled space, he'd concluded as he ravaged one particular box. Sucks to be rich and not know how clean, he guessed. At least he himself knew, God knows how that guy lived before he came...
Takaba turned over the papers in his hand. Many packs of which were blank and milky white. Must be backup stocks for offset paper, he shrugged. He flipped one of the many leaflets. He remembered blanching.
30-second hair transplant?
...To Asami Ryuichi?
He snorted.
Must belong to the previous owner of this apartment.
Takaba turned to the next item. A partially torn, dusty book. Roughly palm sized. Remaining scraps of fancy sort of black leather clung to it, from which was partially visible was a symbol of sorts. Takaba raised a brow, a school logo?
"Salisbury Hill Boys' Boarding School, Scotland," he glanced at the section of smaller embossing, "1995..." Seemed like a foreign school. Of course, one would naturally assume men of canny caliber to be 'foreign educated.' But since Asami Ryuichi was so, well, Japanese... Takaba expected something entirely different.
Impish heat covered his mind, lips stretching to a shit-eating grin. He felt wavering, like he was on the teetering edge of a cliff. There's got to be some blackmail material in here somewhere. Takaba slowly opened the thick cover, brows raised and eyes widened with curiosity.
(If he now thought of it with a clear, very much sober mind: he had been an idiot. Why would sir Asami Ryuchi, write his darkest secrets in a torn dusty book? And in an easily accessible store room.)
He'd flipped the pages. Eyes dulling with each one.
Asami's diary couldn't count as a diary. Poems, riddles, sketches, essays... pages filled to the brim with absolute irrelevance to "normal-diary-stuff." (Then again, what was normal about international criminals.) And strange pieces that no one could make sense of. One such example was this:
1. 1 + 1 = 3 [Ha Ha Ha]
2. 13 + (-1) = 0 [Ha Ha Ha]
3. Beatitudinem + Tristitia = Vacuume. [Ha Ha Ha]
All Takaba can do is squint and recall back his school days. How the heck could be the answer "0" to something that'd be "11"? Though, eventually, he gave up and moved to the next page. It included a detailed explanation of owner's name—
Ryuichi = Roux + Itchy.
The teachers pronounce my name in this manner. It's an itchy roux that fills the brain with unrelenting itch. I feed it with much love.
A hodgepodge book? Takaba trembled in discomfort. 99.9% probable.
Seeing the looks of it; Asami used to have a female teacher. A specially assigned one, maybe. It's hard to tell since there weren't much written... Those which are contained much of, dare he say, an irateness. Or maybe anger. He isn't sure. Of course, there is that problem of his bad English... Hence, it may be an incorrect translation. Young Asami owned more of a vocabulary than him.
[ My tutor ]
The woman thinks that she's a great palmist. She can tell a humans' perennial life. Sometimes she tries to read mine as well. How hilarious!
Another excerpt was more obvious in terms of irateness, though appearing hastily written and unfinished. What did Asami want to write? Why this hasty? And how the fuck did he get a gun on him at that age.
[ My tutor (2) ]
She keeps hanging around the dorm, it's akin to a stalker. Doesn't she have work to do? Tolerating someone has its limits. I ought to just shoot her. But they won't let me. They are nuts. None is convinced enough, she's a
Very, very curious indeed.
He ran a hand on the smooth cursive letters. English, Japanese, and some alien language all mixing and mincing together on smokey paper.
Asami is like an infomercial. Takaba cleared his throat, tucking the small book safely in his apron pocket. The the host will have fluttered at him: handsome, smart, rich, loyal-the best companion to spend your life with~! He'll make you feel drunk when you're sober! Call now on xxxx and get another free with your purchase! Now also available at your nearest Sephora. And he fell for that sickly sweet smile and fake honesty. He bought it. Yeah, sure, few things were accurate enough. Rich-Check. Handsome-Takaba pursed his lips-double check. Smart? Sure... If we count the number of degrees he has...
(Only on times like these does his stalker-like behaviour help. He pats his back. I'm smart, good lord. If only anyone ever would get it.)
He shook his head clear.
Well - um - never mind. Let's get to work.
For him, tragically, the infomercial didn't include searingly hot skin, even hotter sex appeal and crazed-(inter)national criminal-'tendencies' of the product.
Getting another free? Takaba scoffed. I can't even handle a single ones' commitment fees, and another? Oh hell no. I'm getting fucked enough already.
Takaba felt a strange sensation. His eyes widened.
Sliding, slipping and wrapping around his legs.
He jumped to look.
(A mistake.)
Ghastly green, inches thick- cold. Very cold.
Vines of green, slime covered appendage slid around his legs. Caressing his legs with wetness that made him shiver when wind hit those spots. Takaba knew it in basics that he ought to scream in this situation. But his throat felt clogged, shock vibrating through his bones and oh wait.. No, don't do it- don't slide in my underwear oh god. The tentacles slid around, brushing over his sensitive genitalia, leisurely, untouched by his panic.
Takaba's head spun. All those Hentai he'd watched was actually real..?
The little monster cooed.
"Tell us; what is 1000 minus 7?"
Flushed cheeks, tussled hair, red lips and wet eyes—Takaba... well... wasn't in the position to answer.
"Ahh.."
Kind of.
"Answer, human." The monster croaked. "What is 1000 minus 7?"
.
What is 1000 minus 7?
Takaba saw light. The prime was near.
What is 1000 minus 7?
It's close... Yes.. It's so close.. So so-
What is 1000 minus 7...
"993"
Eh?
Takaba sniffed dry air. Dunhill and rose scented detergent.
"...Huh?"
"You're talking in your sleep."
That dream nagged on in the back of his mind, it wasn't as creepy or, disgusting or as just plain... Weird as it was while he was experiencing it. But it was so real... That Takaba couldn't cut down the temptation of being curious about the store room-or even Asami's past.
Takaba's hearing wasn't fully up to right, so he ignored the voice and got up to scratch his head, having closed his eyes in that while. Takaba licked his dry, dully tart tasting lips: if I open my eyes now, I'm going to get a shock from light. But instead, he let out a little sigh and opened his eyes.
"Will you get up?"
That face was blurry. Resembling somewhat the micro pixels of an image. Though softer. Takaba made out dark hair and a rugged face.
Eyes; antique gold. Sharp. Dark. Smokey.
"Are you deaf..? Get up already." Asami held something in his hold. Blue, shiny and... Nah, fuck it. Takaba didn't feel like playing 'guess the face' anymore. He plopped back into the warm comforts of his bed. "Five... more minutes... I'll be up.. soon." He turned and planted his face into his Asa-plushie. (He'd named the little New Years' cosplay mask.)
All he had was silky peace for a moment.
Asami glanced at Takaba's cell, one responsible for his broken sleep.
"From : Long Shi
To : Takaba Akihito."
Long... Long Shi... His brow twitched. "Mister Dragon?" Feilong was reduced to this..? Hilarious.
Asami picked up a nearby pillow, looking somber.
Takaba. This guy had the galls to reply, eh.
"He.. He..." He snickered from beneath his bangs, eyes tinted red. "... ..." You, fine sir who has big balls, are going to get a sound hanging today.
"Get up." Takaba groaned out, five more minutes.
And it shall be glorious.
Ladies and gentlemen, thank your kind graciousnesses for taking the time to put away your half empty bags of chips and soda to listen to this poor lass- Ahem, excuse the blunder, lad's poor, pitiable, poor, did I mention poor, life story. And now onwards...
Asami sneered.
"Shall I force it out of you? Hm..."
Akihito flinched. The bed sheets felt too smooth and submissive under his vice clutch. Air felt too precious to be taken. "Asami-Sama..." He pressed his back against the headboard. "I, well, no, you see-"
A few moments later, all that was left is screams and semen and Takaba's tired grunts.
.
He reached forward, nearly touching Asami's chest. He shivered, the place where they were joined in felt burning. Sweat slid from his nape, carving an itchy patch towards his collar. But licked away by a searing tongue in its siege. Akihito stared dazedly at the ceiling, gulping down a large ball in his throat. That gaze. Cold fire, intangible pools, and the same as they'd met. Smouldering gold sand crashing against wavering, dark black waters. He tugged at dark hair, hard and soft, enough for Asami to reach over and join lips together between zagged breaths, catching and dragging.
Perhaps- Feilong wasn't that bad of a...
"What a lewd expression. Do you want more? Or perhaps..." The thrust made the whole of his being jerk away. "Harder?"
"—AH!"
Screw you, Liu Feilong.
:
Somewhere in Hong Kong, a man named Liu Feilong sneezed.
"Boss-! Should we call an ambulance!?"
Feilong looked at him silently.
'My men are retarded.'
Perhaps that's why he lost against Asami. He needed to hire smarter ones, sooner the better. Lest fate bear a bloody fruit from his negligence.
"No need. Go back to work." He fiddled with his reports, slender hands brushing against a phone. Should check for replies.. He sighed, dazedly staring at his cell, artificial light brightening sides of his face.
[ Updated Just Now ]
The words glared a hole through his pride. To think he'd gone through the hassle of suffering a living nightmare called "making a fake Yahoo account" and sending some more than a dozen mails. That ungrateful brat... Feilong curled his lips, flicking the phone off. Barbaric delight and delightfully barbaric- How useless is this simple human enjoyment anyways? (Mm..? He scoffed. Do I remotely resemble a human? Laughable.)
Closing his eyes, he leant back to enjoy a serene, steady second.
Then, the corners of his mouth revealed a smile akin to smooth dragon's fangs.
Who knows if my spectacular, ultra secret initiation plan number 666 worked...
Hours later, Takaba was left wheezing. While Asami, who was quietly enjoying his cigs, made fun out of Feilong's inability to imitate the 'modern burning youth' properly.
"That's what I thought!" Takaba said. "He's probably woke up, no, he lives in the wrong side of the bed to this off." Asami held a bout of amusement at Takaba's disgusted face. "...Bikini? Really? Even the cigarette made more sense. Didn't know he was so weird. Well, weirder than he already is, anyway." Air settled to a much of a relaxed pace, the city of light illuminating the otherwise dark room through high windows.
"He's learnt from best." Asami threw a skeptical glance. "You were the one to reply to him."
"What would you have me do anyways? Fuckin' bastard sent me 15 freaking mails for gods' sake... I just told him off, what's wrong with that!"
Asami stayed silent for a long time.
"...How low. Moronically dull, in fact." That one, Takaba could agree with. "Perhaps I should exterminate-" Takaba's felt the disbelief in the back of his ankles. "Hold it... Hold it right-" he flailed his arms.
"Maybe I should skin him-" Asami continued.
"No you don't that's a crime-"
"-he'd look amusing. Skinned and set off the face of the earth like a firework." The corners of his mouth twitched, silently observing all actions. Takaba stared for a second, letting it sink in. "You're messing with me aren't you?" He said, It's evident. Time and time again. He, purposefully saying things that would get a particular reaction. Takaba wondered what fun Asami got from it.
"So?" Asami flicked the ash on a tray. "There is nothing..." He closed his eyes, looking away. But his mask was already cracking from hilarity, moving into an uncharacteristic wild chuckle that would've sounded stupid on anyone else. (Laughter is an infectious disease. There is no medicine for it.)
And Takaba, too, found a hint of comic in this. After a futile rebellion, he lowly snickered along.
The fuck were they doing anyways. If it is seen from an outsider's view; they're complete idiots. Mostly himself but yes. By then, the high was slowly dying down like cooling embers.
Actually, Asami recalled, he had awoken not to the sound of Takaba's cell; but his own. (Kirishima. Export was successful. The traitor has been dealt with.) As usual. Weighty like everyday. Instead, now, it feels almost... boring. A part of him wondered if it has settled into his bones and carved itself into his nature. In the past, when he'd be buried among towers of paperwork, empty smiles and pens without ink—like a burnt Phoenix from the ashes, or the morning sun—a strange feeling used to rise. It made him sigh like he'd been living for a thousand years.
Is it despair? Not so. Tiredness—it is too light a comparison.
Is it loneliness... then.
...As if.
Yet somehow, it now magically disappears from the scent of home cooking, camera films and old, torn jeans. That, sets him on edge like nothing else.
He isn't sure what it is even now. A helix of void, he supposed. It won't be a far shot.
It's made him want to pull out his gun and shoot something. Someone. That's how bad of a knot it'd get.
Isn't he a little too... old to be soul-searching now? It is like flowing with the breeze. Free, floating-going along with the flowing water; a used piece of lone paper, isolated from everything in this populated world. Or rather, out of place. He sometimes found himself envious, of how Takaba Akihito can make his place - drill his mark - anywhere, anytime, without even being aware of it. (I'm so different, phantom whispers into the caverns of his mind.)
Painfully built mountains of rules - "Cut" "Dazzle" "Lead" - for I want everything, made all different to him than the normal living ghost's. With depth, noir layered with simplicity and hard edges. And it's all he's practiced to achieve. There didn't used to be something better than taking lead.
Was he the freak named human? Or was he always the Devil in Roman chains?
Asami stared at his burning, red and orange tipped cigarette, white paper walls gradually gave away to ash and vapoured nicotine, a fish gulping down the unknowing prey standing on the riverbank. He tossed it into the ashtray.
"Uh-" Takaba slapped a hand down his high, snorting from laughter, "you're pretty funny, rotten old man!"
Takaba complimented him. He surely did. The sun must've rose wrong today, Asami mused. "...will you grease your own cart please? I am not the one who let go only after a minute or so." Joking with someone, caressing with no ulterior motives, soft-comforting emotions—how alien.
This day after "everyday," is pretty fine too, really. Tension- absent from his shoulders, and the weight that set him apart from ghosts is no where he searched. Humour, unlike the ancient before, cut through him. Laughter rushing out the throat like a waterfall of wind. It's as if he actually is a part of those warm, living ghosts. And it's never irritating. Ironically, it is as it is; he wants this. Like fine suits, expensive loyalty and posh apartments-he wants this, a teeny little luxury too. But it's too self indulgent, reckless even - there is never a doubt - this will be his Achilles heel.
Said person flushed red. "That- that doesn't matter-" Akihito sharply turned to the wide windows, twin periwinkles shining from warmth. "Woah, look at that! Isn't it a bit early for snow? Must be Global Warming huh?"
He looked at Takaba through a layer of slow, thick cigarette smoke that mimicked a secret veil, faintly noting the white flakes dancing outside their snow globe. They watched the scenery quietly this way. Enjoying and ignoring the company.
Feeling akin to sitting in a fresh, warm pile of laundry and eating bread, Asami shifted his gaze.
Actually, this definitely is nice.
He just understood it a bit better now, the importance of this pleasurable inferno.
Nay— A bit more deeply.
Author's Notes: For someone who dislikes math in any form... I sure keep using them...
1. 1 + 1 = 3
In web design and graphic design in general this is a little used term that describes a problem with having two elements in close proximity to each other. The elements can give the visual impression of a third hidden element of 'busyness' or 'background noise.'
2. 13 + (-2) = 0
Let's ramble here like a crazed banshee.
Dossey (a researcher of "triskaidekaphobia") traces the fear of the number 13—aka, triskaidekaphobia—to a Norse myth about 12 gods having a dinner party at Valhalla, Norse mythology's heaven. In walked the uninvited 13th guest, the mischievous god Loki. Once there, Loki tricked Hoder, the blind god of darkness, to shoot Balder the Beautiful, the god of joy and gladness, with a mistletoe-tipped arrow. The only thing that could
"Balder died, and the whole Earth became dark. Earth mourned. It was a bad, unlucky day," Dossey said.
Here, 13 is the number of guests in heaven. And '-2' represents Loki, with Hoder being tricked. I could've simply put '13 - 2,' instead. But I don't think that would have been the accurate expression for "trickery of Hoder" which is the reason for the minus two. And the "happiness of the dinner," which is plus thirteen. If that makes sense...
(My sis: "the fuck you doing grade school math? Study for your exams!" XD)
3. Salisbury Hill boarding school, Scotland.
Hey guys! Today, I'm gonna tell you "how to look batshit crazy in just three easy steps!"
Step one: do a full face makeup in fucking three in the morning.
Step two: mess it up horror movie style, (optional) in front of your roommate.
Step three: Read about every goddamn school, check websites, go through "best schools for teens" documents like a madwoman, trying to find one that is the most suitable-for a fictional character. Namely, Asami Ryuuichi, aka Asa-chan.
I found out that they all lie. The websites and their reviews are "dolled up pretty" and fake. That's how I came up with this school. Out of mortified despair.
I imagine it to have a heavy atmosphere, respectable teachers, and let's out a chance for everyone to mix. Strictly Catholic. Though containing a "bad history" with most difficult students. Like the rotten root of a proud cherry blossom, I think it's perfect for someone like Asa-chan. I chose Scotland, cause I have the impression that it's a pretty sophisticated country with a rich history, though I'm speaking a bit biasedly here.
Kudos to those who got "devil in Roman chains" reference XD