Written in response to a challenge on how Eiri came to acquire the ring he wore throughout the series
Taking
It wasn't as if he had low self-esteem or anything. He just wanted to be liked. Who doesn't? He figured if he did everything right, did everything he was told, if he just tried a little harder, it would all turn out right. And he would have friends. And his father wouldn't get that look on his face every time someone asked 'is that his natural hair color?'
Follow the rules. Color inside the lines. Good boy, Eiri. Good boy.
And so he promptly fastened on his collar, and allowed the world to lead him into one non-adventure after another. Study hard, the world said. Be polite, the world said. You're going to America, the world said. He never once doubted that his obedience would pay off. Because good boys got hugs and kisses and gold stars and bad boys got nothing. Nobody liked bad boys. And he just wanted to be liked.
Then he found out the world didn't work the way he thought it did. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just. There was no nice and naughty list. Nobody was keeping track. Bad things happened to good boys, and he cried himself to sleep at night trying to understand why.
There was no hug and kiss waiting for him at the end of the day.
He was moving back to Japan tomorrow. Moving will heal all your wounds, fix all your problems, the world said. You'll forget and move on once you leave this place, the world said. He snuck out of the house and took the subway across town, determined to lose himself in the haze of buildings and traffic and rude, apathetic pedestrians. He wasn't in love with New York, but it was still better than where he was heading tomorrow. He only had one day left, he didn't want to spend it duct-taping boxes.
He didn't know why or how it even caught his attention. Out of all the vendors, all the displays. He just couldn't take his eyes off of that simple, silver band. It was the plainest looking thing on the rack. But he wanted it. The minute he saw it, he knew he wanted it. He reached for his wallet. But as he was counting the change, he suddenly got very, very angry. He had played by the rules his whole life. His whole life, holding on to the belief that what you give is what you get. But it didn't turn out that way. In fact, he felt cheated. And foolish. Everything that made him who he was had been stolen. He had a right to have what he wanted. He deserved to take something back. He looked up, and saw that the vendor had his back to him, fiddling with the merchandise on the other side of the booth. If you do this, you'll never be a perfect good boy, the world said. You'll never be liked, the world said. He looked back down at the lackluster piece of salvaged silver, and suddenly there was another voice inside his head. One he had never heard before. The voice said,
Fuck the world.
He reached for the ring, and slipped it into his pocket. That day, on 32nd Street between Broadway and 5th Avenue, or what was better known as Korea Town, the perfect good boy shoplifted a three-dollar item from a street side vendor, and was a good boy no more. And he didn't care. It wasn't nearly as valuable as what the world had taken from him, but for now it was enough retribution to keep him satisfied for the rest of the afternoon. When he woke up in the hospital after the incident and had everything explained to him, he thought hecould never smile again. But somehow, walking down 5th Avenue with a piece of the world clutched firmly in his hand, knowing that he had deprived some counterfeit street jeweler his five dollars of profit was enough to lift the corners of his mouth for the first time in months.