The man that hung from the moon.
Mishima splashed through the streets. His shoes and socks were soaked from all the puddles. Today had not started off well, and taking the wrong train was just the cherry on top. At least he'd remembered his wallet. He'd ducked in at the first convenience store to buy himself a cheap disposable umbrella.
Since he'd already killed his afternoon, he stopped at a nearby diner for dinner. It was nothing special, but it did help lift his mood a little.
Things had gotten better ever since Kamoshida had a change of heart. Now the volleyball team felt more like it did. The abuse ended immediately, but Mishima still felt like a victim for some reason. Why?
He looked down at his plate. His pasta was only okay, but that might have more to do with his mood than anything else.
A young woman in a waitress's uniform stopped by his table. "How was everything?" She asked, her voice bubbly, just like his drink.
"O-oh… fine."
She smiled. "Need anything else?"
"No, just the check."
She left with a smile and returned soon after.
Back on the street, he continued to wander. He was not ready to return home. It was still raining, and his mood had not improved, but something about today made him want to see what else would happen.
A few of the bookstores had some interesting comics in them. Most were filled with candy-colored women. He passed those by. On a nearby stand, he spotted some imposing men on the covers. Their shoulders and chests were broad, and they looked out at him, exuding confidence with every cell in their body. Mishima looked away with shame. Why couldn't he be like that? He knew why. Kamoshida had taken that from him. Before him, he'd been the star player of the volleyball team. They had not been the best team, but they were good. And good was good enough for him. Everything changed when the new coach started. The abuse, bruises, needing to wear long-sleeved shirts to hide the marks, and his loss of confidence. Kamoshida took his manhood, and just because he'd had a change of heart didn't mean he, Mishima the once confident, was back to who he'd been. He wasn't. He was starting to wonder if he ever would be.
Mishima walked away from the display, his cheeks feeling warm. He did stop to buy a graphic novel he enjoyed. It was new and that gave him something to smile about. Maybe he would head home now and spend the rest of the evening reading it.
Purchase tightly wrapped in a plastic bag, he exited the store but took another wrong turn. It was going to be one of those days after all. Just as he was turning around, a store caught his eye. It was so out of place with everything else around it. An airsoft store. Those were the stores that sold fake guns that fired plastic pellets. Some guys his age played in huge arenas where they fired at each other with them. Nothing about it appealed to him, but he peeked in the window all the same. There were one or two customers milling about and a man behind a counter. He was leaning back in a chair that really wasn't meant for that. Something about him felt off. It was like it brought images of Kamoshida back. At first, he felt rage, misdirected as it was; but it passed. It was more about his casual pose that seemed to say that he was in charge and knew it. That kind of confidence was exactly what he wanted for himself. He was opening the door to the shop before he even realized what he was doing.
The man behind the counter made some sort of sound of acknowledgment at him, but did not look up from his book. The man wore a gray-billed hat, yellow sound-canceling headphones, and all black. The stubble on his chin, a tattoo peeking out, and an unlit cigarette told Mishima that this man was not one of the respectable "Yes Men" that he was so used to seeing.
He looked around, not really sure why. Nothing in this place appealed to him. It was filled with stuff for gun and military enthusiasts, and neither was his cup of tea. One of them men left the store. The other man went up the the counter and made a purchase.
"Is that everything?" Asked the imposing man.
"Yep, got the new model of AR's in?"
He shook his head. "Nope, not due until next month. Want me to hold one for you?"
"Yeah, and put an extra clip aside too."
"Consider it done."
The other customer left, leaving just himself and the man behind the counter. Mishima got that feeling you get when you know you are being watched. What was it about the human body that had developed that sense of knowing when you were under scrutiny? Flashbacks to his abuse at the hands of the coach threatened to swamp him. He took a step and lost his balance, toppling over a small display. He followed suit and fell with the boxes, helmets, and plastic guns. Mishima heard an angry and slightly annoyed sound from the man.
"S-sorry." He said, trying his best to pick things up.
An iron grip settled over his wrist.
"Leave it!" It sounded like a gravel truck come to life. He was far too conscious of the fact that his own voice was higher and reedier than this man's.
"I'm sorry, I just-"
But he was cut off. "I said leave it."
He did. The man knelt down to pick everything up. Mishima remained quiet. He really should have just left, but he stayed for two reasons. One of which was in the man's hand.
"What's this?" He said, opening the bag to remove his graphic novel.
"That's mine, sir."
Why had he called him sir? So cringy.
"Hmph, kids stuff."
The man opened it and flipped through, making even more noises of annoyance and amusement. Oh God, this was a romance novel and one of the scenes was between two men, and, of course, because today was one of those days, he lingered on that section. Then he put it back in the bag, and handed it back to him.
Mishima did not know what to say or do. "U-uh. Ummm…"
The man stood over him.
"Yes, need something, kid?"
It was hard to look him in the eye. "N-no sir. I was just looking around."
"Doesn't seem your sort of store." Said the man, gesturing to his bag with his unlit cigarette.
"I guess not." His cheeks warmed. "B-but sometimes people surprise you with their interests."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
The man said nothing, instead, he returned to his desk, reclined in a chair, and propped one boot on his desk. Mishima had no idea what to do next. He should probably leave, he was just getting ready to do so when the man spoke.
"And what about you? Any surprises about you?"
"Yeah, many! I'm a big fan of the Phantom Thieves society! I really look up to them. Not only that, but I play volleyball on the varsity team at my high school, and I'm excited to see what life has in store."
"Hmph, more kids stuff. Phantom Thieves." His tone dripped with something.
"N-no! They're really great! They are my heroes and saved us from a really awful man, a-and they fight for justice."
"God, you are so young. But I remember being like that when I was your age. Until-" But he broke off.
"Until what, sir?"
Sir again…
"Nothing, don't worry about it. If there's nothing else, you can go."
It was an order, but Mishima was feeling rebellious.
"Well, I was still looking."
"Planning on knocking over more of my stuff? You're lucky I didn't make you pay for that stuff, but by the looks of you, you wouldn't have enough."
"Nothing was damaged, I hope."
"Seemed fine. Otherwise, I'd have you work it off."
"H-how?"
A not-so-pleasant grin came over the man's face. "Better for you that you didn't damage anything. Let's leave it there." And he laughed.
For some reason, Mishima laughed too. On an impulse, he stuck out his hand. "I'm Mishima Yuuki, sir."
The man didn't take his hand. "Not looking to make friends. I'm in the business of selling, not chatting. Want a boyfriend, go to a host club, Mishima."
He couldn't hide the disappointment or embarrassment from his face. He dropped his hand. The man noticed as well and seemed uncomfortable. He pulled the brim of his hat down, and scowled.
"Ah, sorry. Been a rotten day. I'm feeling off. Plus, I'm still a little annoyed at you for knocking shit over." There was a pause. "Names Iwai. Let's leave it at that, though."
"Sorry, mister Iwai for knocking your display over."
"It's okay. I'm just in a foul mood from the rain."
"Oh, I know, sir. My socks and shoes are soaked through. I also took the wrong exit on the train. Kinda why I ended up here."
"Not from around here. Thought not. Sounds like you had a tough day too, kid."
"I did. I thought it was getting worse when I made a fool of myself in front of you, but, well… I really appreciate you taking the time to chat with me. I won't waste more of your time, but I feel bad."
"Why?"
"I didn't buy anything."
A smile reappeared, and he wiggled his cigarette at me in between his lips. "Easy fix then, buy something." He motioned with his chin at a machine. "Sells military rations. You'd enjoy the taste of licking my boots better than those, but if you are feeling like you need to spend money, go for it."
Mishima was not sure how to feel about the boot thing, but he dutifully bought a ration. It popped out like a soda can. Oatmeal. Iwai looked over.
"Ah, there are worse ones. Curry's the best. Oatmeal is edible, but you would be better using it to hang wallpaper."
"Do people even hang wallpaper anymore?"
Iwai shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I look like an interior decorator to you?"
Mishima's laugh was only a little forced. "No, I guess not."
"You guess? Mishima, I sell replica guns and military gear. There is no need to guess, is there?"
"No sir. I guess- I mean… No sir."
That got him a laugh.
"Get home, boy, it's getting late."
Mishima's chest did something strange, or maybe it was his heart.
"Okay, Iwai. Maybe I will see you again. I have to see if I get the curry."
"Eat the oatmeal and let me know what you think."
"I will, promise."
"No need to promise, I can tell by the way you look, you are an honest guy."
When Mishima left the store, he was feeling better about himself than he had in months. It didn't make sense, but for the first time in a long time, he felt happy and that he had something to look forward to, even if it was eating what was to be a weird experience at best. This time, when Mishima got off the train and unlocked his front door, he walked into his room with a smile.