Sweat and alcohol mixed fairly well. It wasn't as pungent as most would think, at least in Kaito's opinion. It complimented the other nicely. Of course, though, it wasn't his smell of choice. If he even had a choice, he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be degrading himself to degenerates like the ones that come here. The degenerates that come to watch him perform.

'Perform'. It wasn't much of a performance, more the dance of self-hatred and pity. But he supposed that's what people in this society enjoyed to see. People hating themselves and showing off all the skin they possibly can at the same time.

Kaito made a lot of money being a stripper, though. He was the bar's final act, the top league. 'The top league'. What bullshit. All he had to do was walk out there in tight shorts and stockings and everyone would go wild. The other 'performers' had to much 'dignity' and 'class' to show as much as he did. But they don't have a purpose like he does. He doesn't have a choice. It's either this, or let his brother die.

So he chose this.

The girl next to him let out a puff of smoke. It bothered him, but it wasn't as if Kaito would tell her to stop. She had blonde ringlets. She was wearing a pink bunny suit. Kaito looked down and noticed he was in a black, skimpier version of it. He hadn't realized he had put it on at all.

Everything has been such a blur the past few days. His skin was turning paler. He was zoning out a lot. He was stumbling over his own feet. But he couldn't take a sick day, ever. His brother was struggling. Haruto couldn't leave the hospital. Said Hospital said his disease was getting worse.

If Haruto died, then all of this would be pointless. If Haruto died, then Kaito might as well die too.

The girl with the blonde ringlets threw her cigarette on the floor in front of him, stomped it out with her heel, and trudged off. Kaito's eyes watered. The one smell he couldn't deal with was smoke.

He felt faint.

The bright lights spoke to him rudely. His clothes clung to his sunken stomach. He felt like utter shit.

Kaito palmed his face. He has to stop being a child. He has to get this last show done, then he can go home and sleep.

Glitter fell from his hand when he brought it back to his side.

Fuck.

It was so gross. This whole establishment, this whole business was revolting. Why are people so attracted to glitter and skin?

That's a big question he always asks himself, every day, every night, every performance. What makes his skin and his glitter better than the people who are sitting there watching it?

His boots were obnoxious to the floor under him. He almost told them to shut up. He's been telling everyone to shut up. He's been telling his hallucinations to shut up.

Everything just needs to shut the hell up.

He stepped behind the red and black curtain. He wasn't up for another few minutes, but he was eager, almost excited, for his shift to start and end. He slumped on the wall behind him, holding his feet up and stretching.

The floor was cold. His outfit was, of course, not built for the cold. He shivered due to this. He sneezed.

He wanted to vomit.

Kaito fucking hated this. He hated feeling like shit, he hated having to learn stupid, repetitive dance routines that involved him wagging his ass like he was a dog with a tail.

He heard his name.

Unstable and tired, Kaito slowly rose from the floor and out onto the stage.

oops this was really tiring but i wanted to post it for now

yeah i might make this a chapter fanfiction but UEHffm i dunno

but yES stripper kaito is a guilty pleasure of mine