The Dream that You Chased

A/N: Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Thanks to the reviewers, you've made my day – hopefully this makes yours.

~*~

~* I saw a nostalgic dream

At that time we became close

Everyone understood the overflowing loneliness*~

~*~

Chapter Two: Alone

The street again. Every night it was the same street, the same neon signs flickering sporadically, the same girls working the same area. Nothing changed. It was like a tape stuck at a particular part. It just looped back to where it had started from. Even the faces of the men were the same. All blurring together so she couldn't tell them apart anymore. Identical eager eyes, lustful smiles and groping hands.

She had lost hope. She had lost the ability to believe that things could change, that life could be different.

Her reflection stared back at her from the shop window across the street. A short, black skirt, the sliver gleam of a belt buckle. Knee high boots encasing slim legs and a top that was more about the ties that held it on than the material.

She didn't know the girl in the reflection. That girl with the dead lifeless eyes. Yet that girl was her, and this was her life. Days spent waiting tables and nights spent working the streets. Barely enough time to sleep in-between shifts, let alone to spend time with her son. Her son was the only good thing in her life. He was only three and yet he understood when she had to leave him alone at home. He knew she had to work to feed the both of them.

She ran her fingers through her hair, smiling coyly at the men who walked past. It was almost second nature to her. But it wasn't her. It was her job. At home she was a mother; out here she was nothing more than another prostitute working the streets. Trying the make a living the only way she could.

It hadn't always been like this. She'd come to Tokyo as a last resort, she'd taken the cowards way out and run away from her problems. Two months pregnant and all the money she had in the world in her pocket. Her entire life's savings. It hadn't been worth much out here. Soon after she had given birth her money had run out and the money she made waiting tables just wasn't enough for her and her baby. It had been hard enough just keeping a roof over their heads.

Working the streets was good money. She couldn't deny that. It stripped her of her dignity, but it was good money. It was enough to support her and Yui, to make sure that they were fed, clothed and housed. But it wasn't enough to get her out of Tokyo.  

She wanted to get out of Tokyo. She wanted to get out of Tokyo so badly she could taste it.

Of course, she didn't know where she would go if she could get out of Tokyo, but that didn't matter. She was sick of it here. Sick of the lights, the crush of people, the impersonality of the city. She'd love to go back to Odaiba. To go back home where her friends were, where her family was – but she couldn't. Odaiba wasn't even an option.

It would never be an option.

~*~

Crap. Management was not going to like this. He could see the magazine headlines already: ISHIDA YAMATO SEEN IN TOKYO'S RED LIGHT DISTRICT. This was not good. If he was seen the reporters would have a field day. PR was going to love him after this.

He thought of Eri, their public relations person. She was strictly business, with her glasses and suits. She'd climbed the ranks in an occupation that didn't accept women – especially in Japan. She was going to kill him if this hit the press. It didn't matter that he had gotten lost. The press wouldn't see that. They'd just see him, young, famous, successful…in a red light district.

When you were successful they took every opportunity to beat you down.

He'd learnt early on in his career that the press was a double edged sword. They could elevate you to new heights and tear you down in the same step – all under the cover of neutrality.

He pulled the bill of his cap down lower. There was no way he wanted to be recognised here.

"Hey mister, you want something to pick you up?"

A kid, barely into his teens. Greasy, black hair hung in his red-rimmed eyes. His shirt was a grimy, grey colour, the printing so faded that it was impossible to read what was written on it. He smelt too. A rank, unwashed smell. Yamato wrinkled his nose.

"I got lots of stuff, mister. Anything you want. Real cheap too!"

Reality is harsh. Yamato, tugged at the bill of his cap again – more a nervous reaction than anything. "How old are you, kid?"

"Fourteen"

Fourteen. At fourteen he'd been getting into trouble to be sure, but he hadn't been out on the streets selling drugs. Life had never gotten that bad. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of notes. "Here," he pushed the wadded up bundle into the kid's hand.

"What you want for this, mister?"

He pushed the hat back, "Get yourself something to eat. I don't want anything you're selling."

The boy looked at him like he was crazy. Then he shrugged. "Okay, man. Whatever you say."

~*~

"Hey there."

She looked up, a slight smile on her lips. "Hi, can I help you?"

In her three years on the streets she'd learnt a lot. Most men didn't like it if you came on too strongly. You got the odd few that did, but most preferred their girls shy, innocent.

She'd learnt to be shy and innocent in three years.

His eyes ran the length of her body quickly. "I think you can help me," he replied, a grin on his face, "What say we go back to my place, hm?"

She giggled – yes, she'd also learnt to giggle – and leaned forward, running a finger across his chest, "Sure thing, but only if you pay in cash."

The smile plastered on her face was fake, but she doubted that he could see that. No one could. There was no one in Tokyo who knew her well enough to know she was miserable. She'd thought of ending it all, even now the thought still crossed her mind. The only thing that stopped her was Yui, her baby boy. If she ended her life, there was no one to look after him. There wouldn't be anyone who cared about a single baby.

Even if he did have blue eyes like his daddy.

He grabbed her wrist, holding it tight enough to hurt and pulling her to him. "Does it really matter if I pay?" His breath reeked of alcohol.

Crap.

~*~

Nothing like being crazy. Obviously his gift to the boy had made him look crazy. Again, if the press got wind of this he'd be screwed. Never mind that the truth was that he was helping a kid out. It looked like he was buying drugs. So that was what it was.

Inside, he knew that the money would most probably go towards drugs or alcohol, but he hoped that the kid would go buy food. He hoped that the kid would be smart enough to know that this was a road to nowhere. Ten years from now he'd still be pushing drugs. And most likely getting busted for it too.

Yamato lit another cigarette. Compared to this, the dog-eat-dog musician's world that he inhabited didn't look all that bad.

A scream.

Yelling, cursing.

Cars rushing past.

A little ways down, a young woman who seemed as though she was in trouble.

He wondered if he should just ignore it. He was already in trouble as it was. Then again, he was in the type of trouble that could be fixed with a wave of his PR person's wand. That young woman wasn't. He was also the type of person that saved the damsel in distress. He had to do the right thing.

"Hey! HEY!" He grabbed at the guy's hand, "How about you leave her alone, huh?"

"What's it to you, pretty boy?"

Yamato hated the pretty boy cracks. He got plenty of them in high school, mostly from people he didn't know. That's why he'd picked up judo in his final year at school. It got tiring sometimes, all the people who thought he was wimp just because of the way he looked. "Look, buddy, I don't want to have to hurt you. Why don't you just let the lady go?"

The man was an idiot and drunk. He lunged at Yamato who sidestepped easily and drove and elbow into his back. Hard.

His opponent went crashing to the ground.

"You okay, miss?"

His blue eyes met her auburn ones and widened slightly, "Sora?"

~*~

A/N: How evil am I? This one wrote itself, really. I've just been busy with uni starting again and whatnot. So yeah. Thanks again to the reviewers – comments are always welcome (as is criticism). So R&R and maybe I'll get one the next one out faster. Peace.

© Abi

2003-07-24