Takeo woke up from the ring tone. His entire body, from his head to his abdomen and to his legs, all ache inside and around his body. His throat is dry, every breath felt like glue stick in his mouth, every breath makes his head throbbing more than he needs it. Reluctantly, he stands up and walks over to his phone, grunting.
"Hello?". The hissing is the only noise he heard. When Takeo looks at the phone, it illustrated neither the number nor the identity of the caller on his phone, just the hissing. He turns off the phone and moves back to his bed, flapping his white undershirt to cool down his body. Glances outside, he search for any trace of light, any signs that drives this place into The City of Young People. None come. No light of bars or shops fill the dark sky nor sound of yelling, so loud it can reach Honmachi. Only silence that occupies the entire city, blackness that masks what make its special. He leads out a frustrated sigh before stepping back to his bed.
"Hello?". Stop in his track, he whipped at the voice. The phone produced no noise; still the screen still bright up and he can still hear faintly the hissing. And the voice sounds awfully like Nikko. When the voice echoed again, it affirms his suspicion and lures him to grab the phone.
"Why are you still awake?". He growls at the young boy. A pang of guilt build up inside him as the boy squeak lightly, but the last thing he desires is the boy aunt complain the next morning.
"Well... um ... what about you, Takeo-senpai?", the young boy answer, a defiant and authoritative tone in his trembling voice. "Didn't you, like, having an important test tomorrow?".
"What I'm having tomorrow is none of your concerned, Nikko!", he grumbles, "And I don't want to hear that tone again, you hear me! Again with that talk and it Rikona who you will talk with, not me!". And with that, he put the phone on the table, while he leans against it, let's out a heavy sigh.
'It's my fault.', Takeo realized. It's not the first time the boy have react this way to him. Many time for the past few days whenever Takeo yells at him, Nikko always retort back, albeit force and still with a hinge of fear, and no matter what threat he made the boy continued this behavior. And it usually at Takeo, which surprise to him and everyone else. He will talk with him again the next morning, and if that didn't work then he will do it again, and again, and again until he changes. Sensing the silence, Takeo guesses that Nikko has obeyed him and walk back to his bed, dreading for what could be his longest day tomorrow.
"Two companions waiting at the house, carrying the mirror they vow to protect.". He startled by the soft mezzo-soprano voice. Looking at the phone, he shocked to see it still on, despite the sign of no battery. He presses the phone up again his ears, listens closely for any further hints or clues from the woman.
'Goddammit, I'm being Kioshi of all people.' he thought in delight, recall the blue-haired boy with his weird and annoying obsession with minutiae. And with those bright green eyes is a temper most girl fall over their heels for (and still is to his dismay) and the major source of some competitiveness from the guy. A mature and cool demeanor most strive to achieve or should achieve. Or should put down and squash it completely. He shakes his head in disbelief. Sometimes he would have these shameful feelings in him that come to the blue boy himself. Those feelings of craving to shove him down on to the ground. To kick him, punch him, smash him on to every part, every surface he could find. To break him with such power that the boy would beg for mercy. To see tear drip down those moss color eyes and that precious mouth spill his blood on those clean shirt. Takeo hears a crack, yet he pays no mind as he reminisces the pleading from the blue boy, begging for him just go away, plead him to just stop. He let out a grin, thrilled at the pleasure of blood flow down his skin, of the cry of pain. Of how sweet it sounds. Of how the blue boy keeps his wrist from hitting someone else. He grimaces, unable to identify who did he punch that day or even why. His satisfaction died down at something twisted inside his gut, something aches him. The noise of explosion haul him out of his thought, and his phone, and attract him to a giant column, ascending from the dark street below.
As broad as the Skytree, the column illuminates a riot of color, from the sweet of aqua to the chintzy of plum to the translucent of snow, all-dancing with the dark sky and on the firebrick roof, through the crowded street and occupied cars lying on the street. A beautiful moment, a spectacle few could see and may never see. Intrigued by what could be its reason for existence, he put his phone on the table then rush to his wardrobe. Open it, a row of monotone clothes greeted him, all share the same palette. Changing to his everyday clothes, a blue and white Karo pattern shirt over his wear white undershirt with blue pant, he picks up his black armbands, pulls out his brown jacket and steps over for his phone when he catches a crack on the phone screen.
'When does this happen?'. Having no memory of when this happens, he put it aside for his fascination with the bright column overshadow it. Put the phone inside his pocket, he opens the door gently, scanning for the presence of his father. To his relief, he and his brother are sleeping (the heavy snoring show that) and seem unheard by the explosion. Tip-toe his way through the corridor, he arrives at the front door unharmed and unheard, which to him is an achievement itself. Putting on his sneakers, a white one with blue marks, he opens the door and greets by a stream of chill air. He breathes out, reveling in the freshness the wind brings in contrast to the hot of his room. When he glanced up to the sky, it shocks him to see a swarm of yellow snake jump up and down through the black cloud. And it all starts from the column. He let out a smirk, enthusiastic of what he could find until he groans, remembers Nikko would be there, and with that hours upon hours of the kid talking and talking about the column. With Kioshi. So make it two voice that will be piercing his head all day long tomorrow. Chuckling, he placed his hand into the pocket and strolled down the corridor.
Exiting his apartment, Takeo first thought was scared. The street is silent, with cars lying on the road and next to the pavement, people lay limp on their seat, feet on the wheel and head on their leather seat. Shops remain open, welcome hidden guests to their fruits and vegetables. Next to each store and sprinkle around are bodies curl up against the cold breeze that threatens to extinguish their life. Wrapping his arms around his body, shivering from the cold wind threatening to snuff him along, he raced through the street. Each step he takes, the light fade away, blacken the street and welcome the giant with its humongous body, and its muscular arm, and it blood-hungry eyes. Faintly heard it croaky voice, another voice plead him to stop. He shakes his head, whispers him to be quiet, to assure that all will be alright. Yet he says to him, scary and small.
It will come. Dad tells it will come for bad kid. And it will always come for bad kid. Wanting to silence him yet find no heart in doing it, or have nothing to argue against, Takeo continued to walk, to where he has forgotten, while whispering assurance words in his honeyed tone to him, no matter how sickening it sounds. Yet, as the light fades away, he starts to weeping, his body shaking not because of the wind, his cheeks soak and each step quicker than the last. When light can only be barely seen, Takeo run, sniff and sob, try to get far away from the monster.
And the light shut away.
And the giant above him.
And he squatted.
And the tear starts to spilling down on to the grey dirt.