Arakita wished he could just close his eyes and the world would stop spinning. He leaned his forehead against the cold brick wall, eyes watering but unable to close. He tried to pin his hands to the wall with his other arm to stop their shaking, but it was all in vain.

Somewhere deep within his throat he felt a lump rising higher, wanting to escape his mouth and make him break into violent sobbing, but Arakita forced the lump down. It hurt, but he wasn't going to cry. He couldn't afford to cry.

Arakita felt inside his pockets in a panic. He really needed to get some more crack. Maybe there was still some dust left at the bottom. He licked his finger and tried to dig some out, but came up with nothing. Already he could feel his vision begin to blur. He sank to the ground, clutching his throbbing head, howling in anguish.

Arakita bent over in agony, coughing up air, feeling like his lungs were going to burst, but still nothing came up. The gagging felt awful, but somehow it eased his pain a little. After a while of spitting and wheezing, he wiped his mouth with his ragged sleeve and raised his head.

There was a guy standing just before him, wearing a faded-gray hoodie that might've once been black, his long torso bent over at the waist and his huge googly eyes staring straight at Arakita. Arakita tried to back away, and ended up hitting his head against the brick wall. The tall guy before him barked a nasty-sounding laugh and straightened his back.

"Tch," he spat onto the ground. "You addicts are so gross. Pathetic, disgusting, gross..."

Arakita didn't like the way the guy was grinning at him. By instict, he assessed the strength of the long-limbed punk in front of him: he was tall but very, very skinny. Probably weak. Arakita wasn't a bulky mass of muscle himself, but he wasn't all bones like this dude. And he'd certainly taken care of tougher opponents before. He still felt a bit dizzy from the withdrawal effects, but he believed he could take this one.

Arakita got on his knees and from there, slowly wobbled to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. "What'd you want, you sleazebag?" he said, locking eyes with the stranger.

The tall guy covered his mouth with his hand and let out a high-pitched giggle. Arakita felt his eyebrows twitching, his nails digging into his palms.

"What could I want from you?" the gangly apparition said. "You should see yourself, you're so hideously gross... too gross for words."

Arakita swore if he had to hear the word 'gross' one more time, he'd-

Grinning, the stranger bent his back and waved a small bag of powder in front of Arakita's nose. Immediately, Arakita's nostrils widened in want and need.

"You want it, right?" the taller guy flashed a toothy smile.

Arakita took an eager step forward, then let his hands drop to his sides as the realisation hit him.

"I don't have any money though," he said, directing blooshot eyes up at his benefactor.

"Oh, you can pay later," the guy answered, giggling, the picture of generosity.

Arakita was in heaven. He snatched the bag out of the taller guy's hands and dug in, eyes wide, breathing irregular, sprinkling the dust into his pipe. He paused for a moment to beam up at his new best friend. "Hey, thanks... uh..."

"Midousuji-kun," he said. "Don't forget it."

Okay, I won't, Arakita thought, already sinking into the sweet embrace of delusion. In a flash, the sky seemed brighter, the air seemed warmer, the dingy buildings all around seemed like palaces from out of a dream, and life seemed full of hope and possibilities. Arakita laughed, a bubbly laugh of happiness. He sat down, took another smoke, and he laughed some more. Life would certainly turn out alright from here.

...

Arakita was shivering, frantic, little shocks like electricity tingling on his spine and running along his skin. He dug into the last bits of his stash and lighted another smoke.

For a while the rush was there, the freezing rain turning into a gently warming summer shower, the sky opening up to bring its gifts to him, refreshing and nourishing on Arakita's thirsty tongue. But then, too soon, the feeling faded and the raindrops were like ice on his skin, and as jagged and deadly as spearheads.

Arakita had to get away from the rain and the cold, he knew, but he was too weak to even crawl along. If he was going to die here, then so be it. He clutched the empty bag of white wonder to his chest and clenched his teeth. No matter what, he wouldn't cry.

Crouching on the ground, Arakita pricked up his ears as he heard the scuffling of feet around the corner. The sound approached, and then a pair of nice, expensive-looking leather shoes appeared in sight and walked right past him. Arakita felt angry enough to burst.

"And fuck you too, you fancy-ass piece of shit!" Arakita shouted, his voice probably sounding weaker than intended, and cracking at the end of the sentence.

The black leather shoes stopped on their tracks and turned towards Arakita. With tremendous effort, Arakita craned his neck upwards. He found himself looking at a man with a spotless white suit, spiky blond hair and a face that resembled the stone statues at Easter Island. He was holding a business case in one hand and a black umbrella in the other. Clearly one of those self-important yuppie types, just the kind that Arakita hated.

The man stared down as if waiting for Arakita to say something more. Arakita released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Fuck you!" Arakita cried with a raspy throat. "It isn't fai-"

His sentence was broken by a violent fit of coughing. Phlegm spilled out from his mouth and landed on the sidewalk in front of the blonde. The man stood waiting for Arakita's cough to quiet down, and then silence reigned.

Arakita didn't raise his eyes to look at the man again. He kept staring at the sidewalk, wishing for the rich fucking bastard to step away already and let him be. And eventually he did. As Arakita heard the sound of footsteps walking away, he reared his head and yelled from the top of his lungs: "That's right! Just walk away! You do that!"

Arakita clenched his fist across the pavement and crouched down. He could feel another fit of shakes coming.

"Fucking bastard," he muttered under his breath.

A/N: Alright, first chapter's a bit short and nothing much happens, but I'll try to put the second one up soon enough. That's actually where the story really starts from. I kind of wrote it in a hurry, though so I'll have a lot to edit before it's anywhere near postable.