Superheroes

"I wanted to be a superhero." Ryuji lay face down in the musty sofa of the attic. It was cold and the space heater remained on full-blast. He didn't understand why it was never warm enough in that attic room when climate change, global warming, and these melted ice caps were things he couldn't stop hearing about. Could superhero Ryuji save the world?

"Superhero?" Yusuke asked. He sat, with legs crossed, on Akira's bed sketching Ryuji's 'body palm' into the sofa. He coughed a bit and tossed his pad and pencil down. He dug into his bag and pulled out a vape pen. Ryuji - who sat up at that exact moment - was shocked to see him with it.

"Since when?"

"Since this artist, I'm seeing. It's a bad habit. I'll drop it soon. She and I don't like each other very much, but the sex is good."

"She's jealous of Futaba?"

"She is. That's why I don't like her. Futaba is why she doesn't like me. So," with a deep pull, "a superhero?" Exhale.

"To my kids. If I had them." Ryuji answered. He sulked and felt he was sinking into the sofa. He imagined being lost in Mementos, trapped in a cage of his insecurities.

"I thought you two were on the same page."

"I thought so too, but…"

"She's a person. Her dreams are important to her. Even though they're not the same as yours, it doesn't mean you can't have yours too; compromise makes relationships." Yusuke, who was traditionally so far removed seemed more aware and down to earth in that instance. He coughed a bit more and looked at the vape he held with the fingers he drew with; he painted with; he graced canvases with.

"So if you actually like this girl, shouldn't you be willing to compromise?"

"Futaba isn't negotiable."

"Do you love her?"

"More than anything."

"Like, in love?"

"No. She's special. Like, my muse. She's so different from me. Yin and Yang. I need that dynamic. It inspires me, even to this day. I think I make better art with her around."

Akira walked up the creaky attic stairs with a six-pack. He glared at Yusuke who shrugged.

"Come on. You know I hate that shit."

"I'm quitting today," Yusuke replied.

"Quit now." Akira approached Yusuke, snatched the device from his hand and tossed him a beer in return. He handed one to Ryuji, who wasn't sure if the men who sat across from him were the young men he knew back in high school. Akira grabbing things and Yusuke smoking. Who were these guys? Villains? Was he?

The three opened their individual cans simultaneously. With the click and sound of pressure being released from the can of the carbonized drink, they were full into their age now. Fully grown; miserable and unlike the boys, they used to be. Ryuji drank his beer with too much gusto and smiled. He'd feel the buzz soon. He was hungry and drinking on an empty stomach was a sure fire way to get drunk. He wanted that. "I was telling Yusuke, I wanted to be a superhero," Ryuji said.

Akira chuckled. "Bullshit. Superhero. You're gonna save the day from what –"

"Save my marriage, I guess."

"I just can't believe you didn't sleep with her." Yusuke said matter of fact, "From what I remember, Lana was your type of women, no?"

"Everything I thought I wanted."

"But what made you think it was a good idea to even go there – " Akira continued.

"I didn't think. I knew damn well it wasn't. At all. But she made me feel good about myself. She made my ego big. Felt like Skull again; like calling out Captain Kidd. She said I'd be a good dad. I know kids are something I want and the person I want it with, doesn't want it, when I want it," Ryuji inhaled deeply. His exhale filled the room with his hurt, pain, and sorrow, "and I know I was wrong but my heart is breaking." Tears filled his eyes.

Akira sipped. Yusuke arose from his spot on the bed. He sat beside Ryuji and draped his arm over his shoulder. Ryuji squeezed the can of his drink; denting it. He was still strong enough for that much. The spillage of the alcoholic beverage bothered no one. It was quiet and he cried.

"Go home, Ryuji." Akira stood up. Both Ryuji and Yusuke faced the man that was once their leader. It was as if they were young again and Joker stood before them encouraging their greatness and giving support. "You love your wife and you want a life with her. Talk it out. As hurt as you are, as anyone is, why do we never talk about the things we should, with our loved ones? Go to Makoto, tell her you to want this, but you want her to be happy too and figure out what works for both of you. You don't need to be a superhero; you don't need to call on a persona; you don't need to save your marriage you just need to be honest and real with your feelings. Go."

"Relationships are about compromise," Yusuke said. He folded his arms and crossed his legs with a nod of his head.

The bell rang as Yusuke and Ryuji exited the café. Akira watched them walk away and headed back to the attic. As he took his first step on the creaky stair, he heard a tap at the door. He returned and opened it to see Ann with her luggage. He let her in and in the blink of an eye, she embraced him, tightly.

"Glad to see you too." He said. He pressed his lips clumsily on her forehead; unable to avoid some of the fabric of her winter hat. She squeezed him. He wasn't sure where this wave anxiety came from. She didn't look up at him. Her eyes were shut closed and she pressed into his chest. "Ann –"

"Move to Brooklyn with me!" She shouted. He pulled away from her and saw her eyes filled with tears. He didn't understand at all.

"What?"

"Leave here and move to Brooklyn. Come live with me."

Yusuke entered his almost pitch black apartment and flicked on the lights. In the living room, Futaba sat alone staring at the glow of her cellphone. He kicked off his shoes and abandoned his bag on the kitchen counter. Futaba was still and quiet; unmoving. He approached her slowly, afraid his next words would break her, but he dared to speak. "Hey…" He began.

"Hey."

"What's up?" Yusuke sat down beside her. He wanted to pat her head and comfort her. Without words, he knew something was amiss.

"Tyrell's wife...Tyrell's wife came to the laboratory today, during a huge presentation to the university's donors. She berated me in front of my colleagues. She called me a homewrecker – in front of everyone I've ever worked with. The director of the program was not happy, so he suspended me; indefinitely."

"What? How could any of that have been your fault –"

"Fraternizing with coworkers is not permitted in our institution. At least – not openly. And more than that, it has discouraged our prospective donors from continuing business with us. Her getting to interrupt reflects on the school's lax security – it –"

"Futaba –"

"It makes me look like a slut –"

"Futaba!" Yusuke shouted. She stared at him, hot tears in her eyes from overwhelming feelings. She was somewhere between rage and disappointment and only with herself. Yusuke shouted because he knew she'd internalize it. He knew she'd become self-deprecating. He knew how bad she'd feel and how far her-self loathe would take her, "I will never let you go back to that dark place. Don't say things like that about yourself." The tears kept flowing and she buried her head into her hands.

"I've ruined my career. And somehow – I'm not even worried about that. I'm worried about, Tyrell!" She sobbed. She sobbed and it made Yusuke sick to his stomach. How could she worry about someone else? Especially about that man? The man that took her as his woman, knowing he had a family waiting for him at home? How could she care for him at all? He bit his lip to near blood when he pondered on it. Futaba was in love. He felt rage because he very well knew what it meant to love with someone and not have them. He felt rage because he would never wish that on anyone, especially Futaba. And so, he held her; hero's arms.

Ryuji felt the walk from the train station to his apartment was the longest walk of his life. Was he moving slowly? Were the things around him moving fast? He didn't know; he couldn't tell. He decided, since time flowed strangely in his fear and anxiety, he'd make the best of it.

He walked to the store and bought flowers. They weren't Makoto's favorite, but he hoped she'd appreciate the gesture. His perfectly good wife. The woman that was always too good for him and he knew, and he might have ruined that, but he'd be brave. He'd apologize for kissing Lana; for overreacting. He'd be clear that they could work together on their dreams. That if it meant moving to America for Makoto to go to law school, so be it.

He'd learn English; he watched enough western television with Akira. It wasn't unrealistic – a lot of Japanese lived in California. He'd learn to surf. He'd tan. They'd move to San Francisco and buy a townhouse and raise a family there – because anywhere Makoto was, was home. She was his family. That's what marriage meant. Anything as long as it worked for them both; compromise.

He opened the door to the apartment into silence. He called out to Makoto and there was no answer. He entered their bedroom and again, no one there. Where'd she go? Where'd the woman he loved more than life itself go off to?

Mishima Yuki was shocked to see Sakamoto Makoto stand in the doorway of his bachelor pad. He could count on his fingers how often they spoke in the last six months; once. It was the call that lead to him opening the front door. Makoto stumbled in, drunk and he held her up. Why his friends always left their drinking problems on him, he'd never know.