Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or anything mentioned in this story.
Sober
Kirihara had his excuses, but that's all they were – excuses. He blamed the demon in his head. He blamed the stress of being the best. He blamed society for looking down on him. He blamed Yukimura for relapsing and not being able to beat the disease, for leaving him. He blamed the paramedics for saving his life instead of his family's.
In the end, he was the only one to blame.
He knew there was something dark in him. It was always there. When he gave into it, he felt alive, sick with the thrill of complete wrongness. He never fought. He never wanted to. It was all he had. It was all he would ever need.
His head was pounding like someone had put razors in his skull. He sat up slowly, wondering where he was, who he slept with, what had happened last night. He was used to not knowing. The room was dark and damp, a drop of water dripping from the sink in the other room. He realized it was his apartment, not some random girl's.
He turned on a lamp, the brightness of the light burning his eyes. He stood up and stumbled into the kitchen. He opened cabinet after cabinet in search of coffee. He needed to sober up and get to work. Niou would fire him if he was late again, old tennis buddy or not. He swore loudly and slammed the last cabinet shut. No coffee.
A man in a demon mask stood in the corner, watching Kirihara closely. Kirihara didn't run or scream when he spotted the demon. He learned long ago that it was no use. The demon was part of him, a manifestation of his own paranoia and need.
"Go away," Kirihara muttered tiredly. He slapped his face, wincing at the pain. Pain brought him back, back from the hangovers that plagued him every morning, from the nights he didn't remember. "I don't have time for you."
"There are bottles in the fridge," the demon hissed.
Kirihara pushed the thought out of his mind as he began to search for something suitable to wear to work. He managed to scrounge together a suit and tie for the day. Laundry wasn't very high on his expenses list: rent, food and booze, electric, water, then laundry if there was anything else. He usually didn't have money to spend by that point.
The ice cold water of his shower rattled his bones, but he couldn't show up hung-over again, couldn't be late, couldn't look like a paranoid boy who saw a demon everywhere he went. He stepped out of the water, shaking violently and rubbing his skin dry with a towel. He brushed his hair back and changed, slapping his cheeks a few extra times.
"Marui would take you in if you were fired. Just stay home. Take a breather, Akaya. Have a drink."
He slipped into his too-tight, too-worn shoes. New clothes weren't even on his list of expenses. He grabbed his wallet, phone and keys, and then left. The demon walked through the closed door and followed him.
The demon always followed him.
.
Kirihara liked it when the guys from work went out on Fridays. They bought him drinks at a bar, not knowing that they were feeding his demon. One of his "buddies" bought him something strong, something that filled him up. In no time he was laughing loudly, getting a little too touchy feely. To his co-workers it was just him working off stress from a long week at the office.
The last thing he remembered was drinking another shot. When he opened his eyes, he was in his bathroom, the contents of his stomach threatening to vacate his body. What day was it? Did he have work? What time was it?
"Get up." The demon was standing on the other side of the toilet, looking down at Kirihara. "Get up. Check the fridge."
Kirihara struggled to his feet, his legs shaking beneath his weight. His stomach cried for food, not liquid poison. He walked into the kitchen, opening a cabinet. He pulled out a box of cereal that was probably past its expiration date. He had spent his last paycheck on bills and beer. Next paycheck it would be food and beer.
"What are you doing to drink with that, Akaya?"
Kirihara sat on the counter, dipping his hand into the box. The plastic inside rubbed against his skin uncomfortably. He popped a few pieces of cereal in his mouth.
"Akaya."
He screwed his eyes shut, covering his mouth with his hand, nausea sweeping over him. His other hand rested on his stomach, nails piercing his skin, pain replacing the nausea twisting in his stomach.
"You need a drink."
Kirihara tossed the box across the kitchen, hitting the demon in the head. The box went right through him, pieces of cereal rolling against the tile. The demon laughed when Kirihara opened the fridge.
.
"Just a sip. Then you'll stop. One sip won't hurt."
Kirihara dug his nails into his arm, the soft pain easing the need. He rocked back and forth slowly on his bed. His phone rang again. Niou had called him twenty-four times. He was fired. He had to be. Nothing else could be that important. Everything else that was once important was gone – his parents and sister gone in a car accident that he survived, his best friend dead, his sanity shattered. Nothing else mattered anymore.
"You'll feel better, Akaya. When have I ever lied to you?"
His phone rang again. He reached over to his nightstand and picked up it, pressing it to his ear.
"Pick up! Damn it, Akaya! Pick up!"
"What?" Kirihara asked coldly. He glanced through his open doorway and into the kitchen. It would be so easy to walk those few steps. He dug his nails in harder, pain radiating like golden sun.
"We thought you were dead!" Niou shouted. "Why weren't you there?"
"Where?"
"Seiichi's grave! How could you forget the anniversary of his death?" Niou's voice dropped so low Kirihara could barely hear him when he said, "Are you drinking again?"
"I sobered up two years ago." His voice was shaking, his nails no longer giving him enough pain to calm him. He needed it more than anything. "I have things to do."
He hung up.
"Right this way, Akaya."
"No."
"Yes."
Kirihara argued with the demon for several minutes before caving.
.
Kirihara opened up his apartment door when he heard someone knocking. He blinked blankly at Sanada, unable to think of one reason why the man would suddenly visit him.
"Can I come in?"
Kirihara nodded and moved aside. Sanada looked around quickly, like he was searching for something. They used to do this, two years ago when they found out how much he drank. They would send someone over randomly, checking for bottles, for pills, anything.
"Ask him if he wants a beer. That'll make him laugh."
Kirihara wanted to tell the demon to shut its trap, but he couldn't without looking any more insane than he already did. His hair was tangled and matted. His arms were covered in nails marks, long and red. Kirihara shifted every once and awhile, moving towards the kitchen without meaning to.
"Did I pass Niou's test?"
"Niou didn't ask me to come, Akaya," Sanada said. His eyes settled on Kirihara's arm and stayed there. Kirihara didn't bother to try and hide the marks. They were easy to lie about – new detergent, bad soap, or hives. "Is everything alright?"
"Ask if he wants to talk somewhere. Maybe a bar, Akaya?"
"Everything's fine," Kirihara lied. "I just get shaken up around his death. It's been four years now and I still can't accept reality. Do you know what I mean?"
Sanada nodded understandingly. "If you need anything, you know you can call me."
The demon laughed. "He's lying. Call him when you're drunk and lost and he won't come. He didn't two years ago. He won't now. He doesn't care. No one cares."
Kirihara lied his way through the rest of their pointless chit-chat. He showed Sanada out of the building. When Sanada had turned the corner and was out of sight, Kirihara crossed the street to go to the store.
.
His stomach was hollow. Liquids didn't satisfy the ache in his abdomen. He sat on the kitchen floor, cabinet knobs digging into his back, a box of some cheap, salty snack in his hands. He needed to pay his rent. He needed to buy more food. He needed to buy it so the demon would shut up.
"It'll hurt if you stop now. It's too late to go back, Akaya. You're addicted. You need it more than air and water."
Kirihara dug his hand into the box, popping a few of whatever they were into his mouth. They were tasteless and made his empty stomach turn. He was going to be sick.
"Take your emergency money and go to the store. Get something to eat. Something to drink."
He wanted to. He couldn't. That money was for if he was sick or did something stupid like fall down the stairs when he was drunk.
"If you get hurt, Niou'll pay for it. He's a good friend. He takes you drinking, doesn't he? Why not call him? You don't have to work tomorrow. You can get wild and crazy tonight. He wouldn't think twice."
The demon knew everything he knew. The demon was a part of him. Or was he the demon? He couldn't tell anymore.
.
The silenced screamed at him.
He stared at his ceiling. His mind was racing. His head ached. He wanted to drink, to stop himself from reliving the car accident that killed his family whenever he closed his eyes. He wanted to forget it all – the twisted metal, the screams, the sirens, the flames.
He couldn't because he had work tomorrow. He had to pretend like nothing bothered him, like he was fine with losing everyone that mattered in his life.
He turned onto his side, chewing on his lip.
"Akaya –"
"Shut up."
The demon sighed from its corner. "Akaya, I was only going to say you need to sleep. Tomorrow is Friday. You have to go to the bar with your co-workers tomorrow. You don't want to be too tired for that."
Kirihara screwed his eyes shut, ignoring the images that flashed in the darkness.
.
Kirihara had gone downhill after Yukimura died. Everyone helped him get back on his feet. Marui stayed with him those nights the demon refused to give up. Niou gave him a job as an assistant for a department head at his company. The others checked in on him, making sure he was sober. He was sober, at least until his family died and he survived.
Kirihara stared at the bright computer screen in front of him. He had to type up a schedule for next month. He had to pick up the department head's dry cleaning and get his coffee. He had to lie through his teeth, like there wasn't a demon whispering in his ear.
"Forget the dry cleaning, buy his coffee, and buy what you need with the rest. He'll never know, Akaya."
Kirihara picked up an appointment sheet, typing in times and dates and names with his free hand.
"Or say he forgot to give you the money. You'll be able to buy more for yourself."
Kirihara rolled his chair back from his desk slightly. He opened the drawer at the bottom, pulling out a folder with phone numbers. When he rolled his chair forward, his knee banged against the edge of his desk. He bit his lip, pretending to be in pain instead of joy. He was sick. He knew he was.
"Akaya..."
Kirihara went back to work.
.
Niou and Marui took him drinking twice a year. Something about catching up. Kirihara didn't want to catch up. He hated drinking with them. He could only drink two or three without raising eyebrows. They watched him carefully, watched what he drank, watched if he fell into the darkness of his need.
Kirihara blocked out his friends' conversations. Marui was married with a kid. Niou was in charge of a rather large, successful software company his father had given him after passing away. They were happy, content with their lives. They could drink once a month and not touch another bottle for weeks.
It was unfair. They all went through something. Marui's wife's miscarriages that nearly tore their marriage apart. Niou's father's death. Yukimura's death. Why could they get over it? Why didn't they have a demon whispering in their ear, telling them one sip won't hurt? Why didn't they need it?
"Four won't look suspicious. Just one more, Akaya. They aren't even paying attention to you. They don't care if you drink. They think you're better. One more, Akaya."
Kirihara waved the bartender over.
.
Kirihara stirred. The rough fabric of cheap sheets rubbed against his bare body. He turned his head, a spike of pain in his neck. He groaned, pleasure washing over his body. Whoever that girl was lying next to him, whatever her name was, wherever he met her, she liked to bite. She liked to bite so deeply that it made him bleed. It had hurt. But the pain made the demon go away, if only for an hour.
"Check her fridge."
"No."
"Yes."
Kirihara's eyes slowly moved off the girl and towards the demon. He stood calmly in the corner, his mask smiling back at Kirihara. Kirihara narrowed his eyes, noticing it pulled the skin on his face, which pulled on the skin on his neck, sending another wave of blissful pain through his body.
"No."
He turned and stood up, pulling off the top sheet with him. He wrapped it around his waist. He stumbled into her bathroom, gripping the sink as he stared into the cracked mirror. His neck was purple and punctured. His chest was no better. A pain grew in his thigh. There was another bite there, deep and surrounded by dried blood.
He found his clothes scattered across the floor. He tugged them on, stopping to recollect himself whenever the pain grew. He patted down his pockets, feeling his keys, wallet and phone. He glanced at the naked girl one more time, thought that she was rather cute, and then left. He headed down the stairs, the demon's footsteps right behind his.
He reached the bottom of a stairwell and stood in a corner. He couldn't afford a taxi. He pulled out his phone, the bright screen forcing him to blink several times. Yanagi was in London and out of the question. Yagyuu was on a business trip in America, also out of the question. He called Sanada; he didn't pick up (the demon laughed – "I told you, Akaya"). He tried Niou; he didn't pick up. He couldn't find Jackal's number. His heart ached when he passed Yukimura's number; Kirihara didn't have the heart to erase it.
He pressed his phone to his ear with one hand, pressing his palm against his temple with the other. The high pitched ringing squealed in his ear, reverberating within his skull.
"Akaya, what the hell? It's three in the morning!" Marui snapped.
"Bunta, can you come get me?" The bliss of pain was fading off, leaving a lonely sting in his stomach. The pain was beginning to feel like real pain. "I don't know where I am. I woke up in some girl's bed."
"Damn it, Akaya. Did you at least use a condom?"
"I don't know. Can you get me?"
"My wife's out on a trip and my kid's in the other room. I can't leave," Marui said. He took in a deep breath, letting it out as the heaviest sigh Kirihara had ever heard. "How could you do this again? You've been lying to us. I'm not helping you like I did last time. Don't call me again until you want real help."
When Kirihara closed his phone, he saw the demon standing in front of him, right by the stairs he came down.
"Go back up. Check her fridge."
Kirihara did go back up and he did check the fridge. He pulled out three bottles and sat in the kitchen until his nameless one-night stand woke up.
.
Someone was banging on his door. Kirihara rolled out of bed. He didn't even have the energy to tell the demon to shut up. He opened the door and let Niou in. Niou looked around a little more thoroughly than Sanada had. He opened a bag of trash Kirihara needed to toss. Niou stared at the contents. Kirihara could hear bottles shifting in the bag. Kirihara heard the fridge open. The sound of a bottle top being cracked off. The sound of his release being poured down the sink.
Niou turned when the last bottle was drained and looked at Kirihara – his eyes sunken, hands shaking, arms scratched. Niou probably thought he was doing drugs, too. He wasn't. "What the hell, Akaya? I didn't think it would be this bad. I thought you just got drunk and slept with a stranger."
"So you've talked to Bunta?" Kirihara asked dryly. The demon was laughing. "Funny how you talk to each other, but no one bothers to talk to me. Genchirou, Renji, Bunta, Jackal... None of you talk to me unless you think something is wrong."
"We're not kids anymore!" Niou shouted. His voice was hoarse. It made Kirihara want to die. "We can't take care of you all the time, Akaya! We've tried talking to you, but you just push us away. I guess we just gave up, but that doesn't mean we don't care."
Kirihara let out a shaky breath. He reached across his chest and grabbed his arm. Niou stormed forward and pulled his hand away before his nails could pierce the skin. He yanked at Kirihara's wrists, turning them every which way.
"I'm not cutting," Kirihara told him. He pulled his arms back. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"You're drinking yourself to death. How many do you drink a day? When's the last time you paid your rent?"
"How do you know about my rent?"
"I co-signed the lease, remember?" Niou asked coldly. "Your landlord called me. You're so far behind on your rent that I had to come here to pay it off in person because she thought my check would bounce!"
"He only cares because his name is on the lease, Akaya. No one cares about you. No one except me."
"You're fired," Niou said. "I'll pay your rent. I'll drop by with food and clothes every month. I'll do anything except let you keep a job that's giving you money to kill yourself."
Niou slammed the door on his way out.
"It's just us, Akaya. Us against the world."
"Shut up!" Kirihara roared. He picked rushed towards the demon. It mirrored every single movement Kirihara made. Kirihara took one step forward; the demon took one step back. "Go away! It's your fault! Get out of my head!"
"Check the fridge. You're never mad at me after you check the fridge. He might have missed one."
He shook his head violently. He rushed into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. The demon stared down at him, whispering, taunting, seducing... Kirihara refused to listen to the demon. Niou was wrong. He wasn't killing himself. He didn't need it.
.
The scorching water that poured out of the shower head burned. His skin was red, tingling. More than once he looked at the demon and just smirked. Pain. It hurt. It hurt and he wanted to stop it. It hurt and he hoped it lasted forever. It hurt too much to go on. It felt too good to stop.
"If you burn your hands, you won't be able to hold a bottle."
Kirihara laughed. He was winning. The demon was frustrated, desperate for a taste.
"The fridge is empty. Mouth wash is under the sink."
Kirihara turned up the heat.
.
Marui was the first one to drop off food for him. Kirihara wondered where they got a key to his apartment. It was probably Niou. Marui set dozens of bags down on his counter, putting food into his empty cabinets and filling his fridge with fruits and vegetables that Kirihara didn't remember the taste of.
Kirihara walked out of his bedroom, scratching at the band-aids that covered small blisters. The fridge looked different with bottles of water. "Masaharu sent you?"
Marui smiled, ready to say that yes, Niou sent him, that he was going to get better. Before the words made it out of his mouth, he spotted the band-aids, the red marks on Kirihara's skin.
"Akaya, what happened?" Marui dropped a bag as he rushed towards Kirihara. He grabbed his hand. Kirihara hissed. It felt good. It made the demon shut up for awhile. "Did you do this to yourself?"
Kirihara shrugged one shoulder – the one with the worst burn, the one that stung like he was being set on fire. "It helps. I don't need to drink when it hurts."
"That's not a good reason!" Marui shouted. "Don't you have aloe? God, Akaya! What the fuck did you do this for?"
"I told you it helps." He pulled his hand back. It ached. It was amazing. "Go ahead and think I'm a freak. I don't care. It helps. Calms me."
"Masaharu said you were scratching yourself, but this is dangerous. Holy shit, Akaya, how could you do this? You need to find something else to ease the need. Don't burn your skin off."
Kirihara nodded. He didn't say anything, so he didn't consider it a lie. Just a movement of his head that Marui understood to be a promise.
.
Kirihara stared at himself in the mirror. The demon was behind him on his right. On his left was Yukimura.
"Mouth wash is under the sink. Just a few sips. Then a few more tomorrow. Ease into it."
"You're dead," Kirihara said dumbly, completely ignoring the demon. He stared at Yukimura's face in the mirror. "I watched you die. I watched them bury you."
"I am dead, but I'm still alive to you," Yukimura said. His voice was soft, angelic, like he had never once felt pain. "I never wanted this. Your parents didn't want this. Your sister didn't want this. You didn't want this."
"It'll be fine. Make Yukimura disappear. You'll feel good."
Kirihara knelt down. He opened the cabinet under the sink, pushing aside extra toilet paper and shampoo until he found a new bottle of mouth wash. He closed the cabinet and stood up. He stared down at the bottle of blue liquid in his hand.
"Drink it."
"Akaya, don't do it."
Kirihara unscrewed the cap. He turned it upside down, watching as it ran down the sink. When he looked back up, Yukimura was gone and the demon was still there.
.
No one called him. He sat in his room all day, arguing with the demon. He would curl his knees into his chest and scream until his throat went numb. He would catch glimpses of Yukimura out of the corner of his eyes, of his sister, of his parents, but they were never there when he looked. He clawed at his hair, desperate for the voices to go away.
When Niou showed up, arms full of bags to restock the cabinets, Kirihara didn't leave his room to greet him. Niou furrowed his brow, puzzled, when he saw the food Marui dropped off had barely been touched. He walked through the apartment. He found Kirihara on his bed, knees in his chest, face hidden by his hair.
"Akaya," Niou said. There wasn't a single ounce of feeling in his voice.
Kirihara gripped his knees, trying to stop the shaking.
Niou's weight on the bed made the mattress creek and shift. Niou tugged gently at his hair, getting him to lift his face. Kirihara's eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights, his lips chewed red, his cheeks stained with tears.
Kirihara didn't know what to do when Niou wrapped his arms around him. Niou didn't care. Niou never cared.
It was so strange, being wrapped in warmth. It was almost like he was safe, like everything would be okay.
"Why do you have to do this?" Niou asked. His chest rumbled against Kirihara's head. "We all miss Seiichi. We all miss loved ones. Why are you obsessing over them when you still have people who love who are alive?"
"You don't care," Kirihara whispered. "None of you care."
"You've always been stupid, Akaya," Niou murmured. "Of course we care."
Kirihara lost it. He broke down, shaking and digging his face into Niou's chest, letting the smell of cotton suffocate him as he gasped and choked on air. He was used to the sadness, to the lonely ache in his chest. It was as familiar to him as having air in his lungs. The thought of living without it was unbearable.
But he would do it. Not for himself, but for them.
.
Niou came by again later in the week; he stopped by to play video games on Sundays. Sanada called on Thursdays. Marui called, too, every Tuesday. Yagyuu sent him postcards from his business trips, set him up with a psychiatrist. Jackal would stop by from time to time and cook him dinner, sometimes bringing ice-cream and cake. Yanagi stopped by when he was in Japan, web-chatting when he wasn't.
They cared. Kirihara liked that they cared. It made him feel needed, made it easier, made everything worth it.
A/N: So here's the story behind this fic. When I first saw Kirihara and his demon in the anime, I though he was schizophrenic. So I played off of that, and the rest is just my anxiety and depression coming out because I needed to vent. But, at the same time, I wanted to put in that bit of hope. Because things can get better. No matter how bad things seem, it will get better :)