Nights before falling asleep were the worst. That intermission when you're out of distractions but sleep hasn't claimed you yet. When you lay in bed in the silent darkness and stare at the shapeless shadows. That's when it always came out.

Well, it wasn't quite right. It was more like them, and one by one they all took turns to occupy the stage that was Hajime's mind.

It started with realization. Hajime looked around the motel room he had moved into from Mattsun's place. After eavesdropping on their conversation, he had decided to give Mattsun an easy out and told him it was about time he stopped freeloading. While he was looking for a place of his own he'd stay at the local motel.

Don't worry, I'll be fine, he had assured Mattsun when they had moved in the last of his stuff. Mattsun had scooped him in a tight embrace and told him to call if there was anything he needed.

Realization took a censorious look around the room and pointed out everything that was a clear indication Hajime wasn't doing very well in his life. And when you were a gimp and lived out of a sleazy motel room, the list pretty much wrote itself.

After realizing everything that was wrong in his life, it was time to look for whose fault it all was. Bitterness rolled out its chronical list which started with his single mother. What kind of a parent lets their only child join the army? Sure, she had tried to talk him out of it, but she should've tried harder. And if Mattsun hadn't been so excited to join with him and if someone had given him one of the many odd jobs he had applied for, Hajime wouldn't probably have enlisted and he would be living a happy, wholesome family life.

Or if the fucking kid and his parents had followed the curfew Hajime would still have both of his legs. He would have finished his last tour with his best friend and gone for a vacation somewhere where the only sand you could find was at the beach.

A woman giggled and yelped in the hallway, and a man spoke something in a low voice. Her heels clacked on the floor, and the door of the next room clanked.

No, if you were looking for the true culprit for his misery, you needn't search far. He could blame everyone else for all he wanted, but the truth was it was all on him. He had made a stupid, rookie mistake and paid the price.

That always led to utter hopelessness and self-pity, the grand finale. Slowly but surely it sucked Hajime deeper like walking on a soft swap ground. The deeper you sunk, the harder it became to yank yourself free.

And if Hajime was completely honest, he didn't really want to free himself. The play had somehow become his safe place, and he treated it with fondness, almost looking forward to the different physical sensations the feelings provoked in him. Like a junkie he craved for the for the bitterness, hurt, and self-loathing. It was familiar, and wallowing required zero effort.

Most nights that was where it ended. He might go through the cycle couple times before falling asleep, but rarely he went further than that. Because then it got scary.

That was when he was so deep into the pit that the whole world went askew and twisted. The last guest stars which rarely got to perform, the crippling anxiety and terrifying suicidal thoughts, took over not only the stage but the whole of Hajime. They filled his already weakened mind with images of him walking to the kitchen and slicing his wrist. Or finding the highest building in town and stepping into the emptiness.

They tried to convince the side of him that still wanted to live, his survival instinct, of killing himself. The other side reacted by slamming the anxiety button, and Hajime was left to listen to the duel in his head like an outsider. So far his will to live and fear of death had won the arguments but who knew for how long that would last.

He had become scared of himself.

It didn't take long for the woman to start moaning in the other room, and the headboard took its first tentative bangs, knocks really, against the wall. Hajime glanced at the clock on the nightstand and decided he wasn't drunk enough to pass out or listen to the hooker to start her night shift.

~~oOo~~

Tooru had been just on the edge of falling asleep when the couple next door had started to make amorous noises. He had watched enough porn to tell the woman was faking it, but it didn't seem to bother her partner, and after just a couple of minutes he came with a deep growl. If Tooru hadn't been so exhausted from work, he would have maybe jerked off to it. That sound always made his knees weak.

His back and whole right arm were aching. The last couple of days he had been playing catch up with work he had pushed for later because of his trip. After holding the vibrating tattoo gun for almost around the clock, he had sunk his burning arm in cold ice water with a deep, satisfied sigh.

After the guy finished, it got quiet again. Tooru stored the audio in his jerk bank for later use and buried himself deeper into the sheets. Foolishly he wasn't the least bit concerned when the door clanked so soon after having sex.

By the time a john number three shot his load with what sounded like a half-sob Tooru gave up. Frustrated he tossed the blanket aside, yanked on his pants, and pulled an old, worn-out hoodie over his head to shield himself from the night chill. Determined he stomped to the bar next to the motel where the clerk worked at nights.

The surprise halted his steps when he opened the bar door. The bartender-clerk was in the middle of hauling a tall, beefy guy on his feet off the barstool. The guy appeared to be passed out since he hung limp against the bartender's shoulder. Tooru squinted his eyes in the dark lighting, the guy looked oddly familiar.

"Hajime?"

The bartender's attention nailed at Tooru standing in the doorway. "Hey, you, could you gimme a hand?" he said with a grunt and tried to get a better hold of the slack body.

Tooru hurried across the floor and wrapped Hajime's other hand behind his shoulder. Together they balanced him between themselves. He hung there lifeless, and his head lulled between his shoulders. A thick trail of drool was stretching out of the corner of his mouth. Tooru's lower back flared angrily under the extra weight, and he grimaced silently.

"Help me carry him back to his room, it's not far."

It wasn't, Hajime's room was just next door, but every one of those few meters were a struggle. It was a race against gravity, and they almost lost it a couple of times. The bartender opened Hajime's room door with some difficulties while trying to support his body, and they lowered him on the double bed. Tooru slumped in the cane chair at the table to catch his breath.

He let his gaze wander around the room. All the tabletops were loaded with empty beer cans and liquor bottles. The bed was a mess of bundled sheets, and there was a half-eaten pizza on the nightstand. The room stank of booze, sweat, and puke.

"Is he alright?" he said and glanced at unconscious Hajime half on the bed. His arms were spread, and his breathing sounded heavy.

"He just passed out," the bartender wiped off the sweat of his forehead with his sleeve, "damn near fell off the chair. Caught him just in time. You know him?"

"Ah, not really, I've met him once. I didn't know he was staying here."

The bartender sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "I better go call his friend. I can't leave him in the room like this, but I know the ER won't take him either."

"You mean Mattsun?"

"You know him, too?"

"Yeah, he's a – look, I don't think you should call him at this hour, he's got little kids and a pregnant wife. I can stay with him and call Mattsun in the morning."

"You sure?" The bartender kneaded his neck unsure what to do but tempted to take Tooru up on his offer. "I mean, I can't ask you to do that. My boss would tear me a new one if he found out I've been enlisting guests to take care of others."

"Then let's not tell him. It's either you let me look after him or you have to call the police. If you do that, I'm afraid I'll also have to make a complaint about the obvious hustling going on in the next room."

The bartender froze and glanced at Tooru. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Neither do I if we have a deal. That man there deserves better than to wake up in the drunk tank the next morning. Hell, he deserves better than to wake up in this motel. I can deal with him, it's not rocket science. So, how it's gonna be?"

The bartender sighed again and spread his arms in defeat. "Fine, fine. Just keep this between you and me, okay? And if you have any problems come and get me. I'll go get his crutches."

In the meantime, Tooru rolled Hajime on his side, stuffed a pillow under his head (the hair was dirty and left Tooru's fingers a bit waxy), and placed a bucket he found in the bathroom next to the bed. As the hooker next door began to work on her next trick, Tooru started to clear the empty bottles and cans into a big plastic bag.