Yay Kida!
Kida Masaomi
9:00pm
The streets of Ikebukuro were notorious for the danger brought about in them. Whether from color gangs or deadly individuals, the dark, paved roads were not safe to walk. This applied twice as much at night, especially for anyone who wasn't at all prepared to defend themself.
Despite this, Kida Masaomi walked down the streets, practically strutting as though he owned the place. Of course, he was faking his confidence in an attempt to distract himself from the urgent matter at hand.
Even though the night held unspeakable dangers, Masaomi felt more a home on those streets that hadn't touched the soles of his shoes in so long than anywhere else right now. He wanted to stay there, right smack dab in the middle of the alley in which he now stood. He bounced slightly from the heel to the ball of his foot, killing as much tiime as possible. If he was truly going to do what he planned to do, he needed all the time he could get in order to prepare.
breathe in -
breathe out -
breathe in -
breathe out -
It was no use, he wasn't going to be able calm his nerves. He wished desperately to return to the Masaomi he used to be, before all this gang business got in the way. He thought back to a year ago, when Mikado first arrived in Ikebukuro; when his biggest worry in the world was the preservation of their love triangle. Truth be told, he had worries back then, too, mostly revolving around his hospilized girlfriend, an issue which, for the time being, was resolved. He also thought back to times before that, before the city took his soul - before he willingly gave his soul to the city. He and Mikado as children, his hair unbleached and free, just as his smile used to be. He knew that if, at any time tonight, his lips curved into a grin, it wouldn't be genuine. He couldn't imagine being happy tonight.
Masaomi knew his way by heart, tracing the route thrice over in his mind and twice over with his feet before decided that he knew where it was. The only thing stopping him was his own embarrassment and nervousness. While he was reluctant to admit it, Izaya had proved to be a large influence on his trip tonight. He liked to think that he was ruled only by his own free will, but he knew inside that his obedience of Izaya was possibly just as much a handicap to him as it was to Saki. He knew that, while great strides had been taken, she was still a slave to him, and he was too, now more than ever.
He hated himself for that, for, no matter the circumstances, alway running back to Izaya as though from some strange attraction. He didn't want to informant to be the center of his world.
I will escape, he kept thinking, Saki and I, together will disentangle ourselves from his trap.
He didn't like to think of the alternative. Continuing to revolve around Izaya, becoming his toy thing only to tossed away as any toy is when a child grows bored of it. Masaomi hated that about Izaya - how he swore he loved all humanity, yet managed to toss away a single life without so much as a bat of an eye. Masaomi would be the first one to admit that he didn't know a lot about love, but he knew that that kind of love wasn't the kind anyone would strive for. Love wasn't a feeling; it was a commitment.
Izaya had no commitment to humanity.
Yet the teenager continued to play the game exactly as Izaya expected. He followed his advice to return to the city, hardly even bothered him upon finding out about his hacked account and the messages Izaya sent to Mikado, and even now the reinvention of Yellow Scarves was truly being carried out by Izaya using Kida as his puppet so as to not get in trouble.
Masaomi cleared his head, his feet tracing and re-tracing the same three meters. He was trying to think away his problems, think of anything but what he was about to do. He couldn't go in there without thinking about it, yet winging it seemed so appealing to him right then. He knew that nothing would be said besides what needed to be. He really hoped that was a good thing.
It was almost like a cruel satire of their reunion a year ago, when Mikado had come into the city, unknowledgeable and timid, bumbling and confused, looking to Masaomi - who was knee deep in the shit of the city - for guidance. But now the roles were reversed. Even though Masaomi didn't want to admit that, at the moment, he was awfully bumbling and confused.
He knew the gist of it - that Mikado held power over Blue Squares and Dollars, with that little twerp Aoba constantly by his side, despite his obvious plans for betrayal. Izaya had told Masaomi just enough so that he would be intreiged to the point of returning and facing Mikado but not enough to give him any sort of advantage. All he really knew for sure was that his (former?) best friend was in over his head, just as he himself had been, and that he needed to talk to him. He couldn't keep running away.
Of course, he had thought of visiting Anri, too. She had been his friend just as much as Mikado, but childhood friends took precedence. He would work things out with Saika's owner later and simply hope, until then, that it wasn't too far gone and that they'd be able to reconsole.
He already felt as though he and Mikado were too far apart. He didn't want to think of all the things he had done, all the shame that followed him and whispered into his ear, trying to convince him to go home. He didn't want to think of all the things he hadn't done, like speak up on that night when he saw his friend cry, tears of utter distress soaking is cheeks. He didn't want to think of what Mikado had done, either. All the things he had missed that Izaya wouldn't tell him.
His own hesitation to walk up to the apartment grasped him forcefully, as though pressuring him to relive the fateful night when he had been unable to rescue Saki. That was what convinced him.
His arm, still too hesitant for his liking, carefully gripped the rusted railing on the steps. He trudged up them, feet dragging, suddenly filled with a new fear that he might not even be there, in his small, cramped apartment.
step-
step-
step-
And then the door loomed in front of him, unimpressive yet intimidating. It meant so much - everything that needed to be overcome and everything previously overcome. His finger danced lightly on the doorbell before he took a deep breath and, with every cell in his brain screaming no firmly and loudly, he pressed down.
One second.
Two seconds.
Seven seconds.
Twelve seconds.
Footsteps.
Sixteen seconds.
The knob turned.
It all seemed so melodramatic in his mind, every action playing out like a slo-mo scene in a crime drama, complete with close ups and suspenseful music. He wished he wasn't so nervous, that his palms weren't sweating quite so much.
The door opened a crack, accompanied by a high-pitched creak of hinges that seemed fitting in the trashy apartment scenery. The door swung open fully in one clean motion, for the person behind the it was far less nervous than the ex-gang leader (and possible future gang leader) who stood in front of it was. The metal door scraped against the concrete ground with an unbelievably high-pitched squeak.
Masaomi was greeted by an over-ecstatic smile stretching across a pale face. Girly blues that certainly didn't fit the normal image of a high school gang leader twinkled under black bangs. A hand reached out to grab Masaomi's, and he instinctively flinched back, startled by his greeter's apparent lack of surprise.
"I've been looking forward to properly introducing myself to you, Kida Masaomi!" Kuronuma Aoba said with a transfixing smile.
Oh look, I entirely ignored Celty's head...