Summary:
I've dropped hints at the floorplan of Toji's apartment before but just to provide some more details, it is a one bedroom apartment with a master bathroom that is exclusively left to you (except when Toji needs to shower of course.)
Notes:
I redecorated my bedroom this week so I could be surrounded by pretty flowers and colorful, soothing whimsical lights
Keep that in mind as you're reading this chapter
.
.
.
The initial rush of your victory had to be cut short for reasons unknown to you. Toji acted paranoid the whole drive home, taking backroads, unnecessary turnarounds, and even pulled over to cut the engine and lights completely for ten minutes, just sitting and waiting as he shushed you and Junpei as you whispered. When you walk through your front door and kick your shoes off, there's only one thing on your mind: a shower. You're covered in a disgusting mixture of dirt, sweat, and your own blood.
You take Junpei by the hand and pull him toward your room. "I'm gonna shower, call us when dinner is ready."
"Hey!" Toji snaps just before you close your door.
"Ugh, what?" You put a hand on your hip.
He pauses with a panicked expression, trying to decide whether or not to say something about Junpei being in your room. That shouldn't bother him. It's just two boys hanging out. That's fine, right? But he saw you two kiss, so would a responsible parent allow that to happen behind closed doors? A better question, should he care? He can see the annoyance growing on your face. Say something, idiot!
"Uh…I'm m-making curry," he stutters lamely, finding no other words.
"Okay. Sounds good. Thanks." You shut your door before he can regain his thoughts in an attempt to say something else. You already have a feeling you know what he was hinting at anyway and it pissed you off. What could the two of you possibly do with him lumbering around in the next room? It didn't exactly set a mood.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," you announce as you disappear into your bathroom, shutting the door behind you.
Junpei looks around, trying to take in your personal space, but you don't own much. Toji bought a few changes of clothes and new shoes for you when you moved in, but that's about all he could afford. There's no photos or posters up like Junpei has in his room. There's some clothes on your floor that he recognizes as his own from when you borrowed them. It makes him gulp nervously to imagine you wearing his things…and taking them off. He hears the water turn on and opens his backpack to take out his books. There's still assignments to work on if he wants to make it look like the two of you were doing a study session.
He hears you singing as you shower, perhaps forgetting that he's even on the other side of the door. Though he secretly hopes you remember and maybe don't mind that he's listening. He loves your voice.
You don't take long at all. After your shower, you'd changed while still behind the closed door, choosing to give your chest a break from your binder. It doesn't matter to you if Junpei sees you without it. He's never indicated that he struggles to remember your gender, so you trust him. He's sprawled across your bed, looking quite comfy as he does his homework. Upon hearing the door he turns around, giving you a shy little smile. There's still a smudge of your blood on his chin. Sitting beside him, you wipe it off with a corner of your towel.
He frowns at your forehead. "You want me to look at that for you? The bleeding stopped, but you probably need antiseptic."
"Sure. You wanna be my nurse?" you point to your bedside table. "There's a first aid kit in the top drawer."
He retrieves it dutifully, and sets to work on inspecting the gash at your hairline. "It's not as deep as I thought. It just gushed a ton earlier so I was worried."
You chuckle. "Yep. I had to sit down in the shower. I'm still pretty dizzy, but I'll be fine after we eat."
Junpei uses a cotton swab to apply ointment to your injury, as unnecessary as you feel it may be, you allow him to dote on you. It's nice having someone who cares enough to be gentle. He must have learned that from his mom. Doctor Toji has terrible bedside manners. He's very much the 'rub some dirt on it' type.
"There. You should be fine now. The bruising is going to show by tomorrow though. Hopefully no one asks you what happened." He closes the kit and sets it on the floor.
"I'll tell them you did it," you joke.
He cracks up, shaking his head. "Nobody would believe that!"
"Sure they would!" You grab onto his arms, squeezing his biceps playfully. "Strong boy…"
His breath catches and he closes his eyes, eliciting a small sound of approval before he can control himself. A blush spreads across his face, warming him in an instant. Your hands feel so secure. He hears the bed squeak as you lean in closer. Your nose touches the tip of his. Finally he looks into your eyes.
"Is this…okay?" he asks.
"Why would it not be?"
"It's just…I thought Toji was upset earlier when I…" he trails off, as his eyes wander away.
"You mean when you kissed me?" you supplement.
"Y-yeah…" He gulps.
"He just has a thing about keeping up appearances, especially at the railyards where we make money, but he's not going to say anything else about us."
Us, Junpei's stomach flutters.
His fingers curl into the sheets. As he sighs, he erases the distance between you leaning into your chest heavily. Your hands slip around his back, pulling him in tight. He does the same, but releases his hold when you vocalize a complaint. Your back is still throbbing.
"Oww! God, that guy really fucked me up afterall," you groan.
He places his second hand on your other shoulder, testing his pressure to find the incongruencies in your muscles. Gently he massages you. "How's this?"
"Mmmmm…That's nice. You're way more gentle than Toji is. He tenderizes me like I'm a side of beef. I can't take it," you gripe.
Your friend blushes again, happy that he can offer any relief for you. He's already been replaying your fight in his head again and again, especially when you lifted that enormous thug and held him up in the air with your legs. You must be in a lot of pain from that match. Junpei's hands squeeze into your back again, making circular motions he thinks may be helpful. He's never had any reason to massage someone before and doesn't want to do anything wrong. Your appreciative sighs of relaxation guide him in his movements. Eventually Junpei's fingers reach the hem of where the sleeves of your shirt are cut off. He hesitates but slowly eases his way over to touch your bare skin. He waits for any sign that this might be bothering you, but when only more sighs reach his ears, he finds himself growing bolder. He drags his fingertips over your warmth, closing his eyes. You're smooth except for one spot. It feels almost like…like circles on your skin.
"Fushiguro…What's this?" He carefully pulls back the edge of your shirt to reveal more of your shoulder. He sits up to take a closer look.
"Hm? Oh…Ah, that's nothing you need to worry about." Attempting to roll over, you're shocked when he refuses, using your shoulder as a hand-hold to pin you.
"But…you–"
"It's fine," you insist. "They don't hurt."
Junpei frowns, running his thumb over the small perfect scars burned into your skin. He recognizes the pattern. "Are these from…cigarettes?"
"Yep," you reply, trying to keep your tone neutral. You weren't expecting to have to explain those scars to him tonight. His silence is unbearable now, and he stopped massaging you to investigate them further. You can tell he's counting them.
"Who did this to you?"
If it were anyone else asking, you'd shrug it off and ignore them, or tell them to go fuck themself…but not Junpei. He knows what it feels like, not just the burn of a fire being snuffed out on your skin, but the hate that precedes and follows it. To be treated like you weren't even alive. Subhuman.
"It was my father," you say quietly.
He sucks air between his teeth disapprovingly.
"He always hated that I challenged him and didn't obey," you explain unnecessarily. "Said I was hard-headed and loved to argue just for argument's sake."
Junpei whispers your name, covering your scars with his palm. It's no wonder you never asked him about his own. You already knew. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were abused."
That makes you laugh bitterly. "Everyone has the same reaction when they find out, but my family just saw it as discipline."
"That's not true though," he argues. It makes him so angry that someone you're supposed to be able to rely on would choose to hurt you instead of keeping you safe. No matter what they think you did to justify pain like that, it's inexcusable. He leans down, wrapping both of his arms around you from behind, He squeezes your shoulders tightly and holds you.
"You're …such a good boy, and you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry they were so shitty to you, and didn't see how incredible you are."
His arms aren't anywhere near your neck, but you're finding it hard to swallow all of a sudden. "Aw, dammit, Junpei, don't make me cry. Toji's gonna make fun of me."
"No, he won't," he smiles. "Toji cares about you, too. I can tell. Did you see him punch that one guy who yelled at us?"
You snort, giggling as you turn to look at him. "Yeah, right! That asshole is gonna need a good dentist for sure."
Junpei presses his cheek to yours. "I'm glad the two of you met each other."
Turning your head, you kiss him softly at the corner of his lips, not pulling back as you whisper, "I'm glad I met you, too."
He melts against you, humming in content. "So am I, Fushiguro. Want me to keep going?" He squeezes your aching shoulders again.
"Mm, yes please." You sigh when his hands return to kneading your back, working away all of your tension little by little.
"Don't fall asleep though. We're doing more algebra before dinner," he insists.
The next groan you emit is much more pained than the ones before.
From the next room, Toji rummages through the fridge with irritation. After slicing up potatoes and throwing them in water to soak out the starch, he takes a chuck steak from the fridge, unwrapping it and selecting a cleaver from the knife rack. The neighbors have their music up too loud again, but instead of pounding on the wall to shut them up, he tries to focus on the song, letting it distract him as the knife flays into the red flesh.
Beef. It's just beef.
He repeats to himself over and over, letting the words become the lyrics to the muted melody playing through the drywall, trying hard not to notice the way the knife saws into the tendons beneath the blade.
Slice….Rrrrip…Slice…Rrrrip
By the time he's finished, his hand is shaking. He squeezes the handle to steady himself. This kind of chore always sends him back to darker times. His days under the Kazahaya family when the meat he hacked didn't come from any animal. The flashbacks aren't usually this bad.
…..…
He had a much nicer apartment back then. Plenty of things about Toji's life were simpler back then because of money. He could work two or three days a month and make enough to do whatever the hell he wanted for the rest of his spare time. But whenever his pager went off with the specific code for his services needed, he'd have to drop what he was doing to respond. It was never anything particularly pleasant of course. Nothing that pays well ever is. But he was good at what he did, so he could come pricey for what was required of him.
Usually it was a body. A body with no lights on, and no one home. Meaning someone else had received a page from the Kazahayas as well. It was better to split the assignments into little group projects. One man to initiate the call, another to do the deed, one more to clean up, and if the "anybody" had made someone very mad, there would be a fourth guy for disposal to leave no traces. None of the employees knew who they were handling or why, but they did know better than to ask. That was always smartest. "Shut up, get paid, fuck off until we call you again." Simple. There was no margin for criticism. The only one close to being excusable was "Show up less drunk next time," as if any man knew when a call was coming.
If he knew he might turn off his device for an hour at a time. Maybe let the next guy take the action in case it was call Number One. No one wanted to be call Number One. Two or Three was better. Four was best because it paid the most. Meaning it was also the worst job, naturally.
Toji was nearly always saved as Number Four. So often that it became an almost nickname. Except nicknames are supposed to be fortuitous or playful.
In Japanese, Four sounds the same as Death.
Even though everyone he handles was already dead, they had the misfortune of becoming "more dead." That means to go missing and unsolved. No corpse. No funeral viewing. Just questions for eternity.
Toji finds himself staring into space as the water boils on the stovetop. He's worried. Seeing Sakyo tonight was a bad omen, he can feel it in his core. Even more tenacious than his mob boss father, Sakyo found ways to amuse himself that far surpassed the logic of any reasonable pastime suitable for a teenager. He was a sadist. Though it wasn't apparent the first time they met. He'd just been an annoyance.
Like most children who were spoiled from birth, never having been told no once in their life, used to getting everything they asked for, he suffered from one of the greatest maladies that could befall someone with his type of power: boredom. Most high school grads his age were taking girls to movies, going clubbing or sneaking into bars. The thrill of being caught made the excursions worth it more than the night itself usually. However in Sakyo's case, people knew his face. They knew his family. So no one asked for his I.D. to get in anywhere. This quickly earned him a circle of friends who could take advantage of Sakyo's status as cover for their own debauchery.
If anyone on the street pissed him off, he'd have something unfortunate befall him. A shopkeeper who scolded him for lighting a cigarette inside his store soon after found his store in ruins, still smoldering from the "electrical fire" as police had called it. That was only his first offense.
Soon after the cleanup crew started receiving calls. First the Three's. Then the Two's when Sakyo grew bold enough to start carrying out the first step himself rather than paying one of his father's men. It didn't take long. Sakyo had never even been aware there was a Fourth man involved until his father had enough of his son's impulsiveness and forced him to face the consequences of his poor temper.
"You have no idea what has to be done whenever your impulsiveness takes over, do you?! Well tonight you're going to learn. Maybe then you'll start thinking twice about causing a scene over every little slight!"
"These people are nothing but animals, father. They're no more than dogs in the street running wild," his son muses, staring blankly out the car window.
This side of town is disgusting. The streets are filled with loiterers huddled together for warmth to share a single cigarette or a bottle for comfort.
Vermin, Sakyo thinks silently.
The car comes to a stop. Kazahaya-san opens his door, so his son does the same. It looks as if they're outside of an abandoned warehouse. There are windows, though mostly broken, clearly showing there are no lights on inside.
"The entrance is down below here. Let's go," his father instructs, leading the way down a flight of filthy cement stairs off to the side of what appeared to be the main entrance.
"What is this place?"
As he unlocks the door with a key from his ring, his father chuckles. "What is it? A shithole. What it used to be was a bakery back when I was your age. The owner sold his business to some bigshot American who promised he'd keep everything localized for their production. The ingredients used to come from families who did business with the first owner's great grandparents. But of course Mr. American broke his word and tried to outsource cheaper supplies. Then business fell and he had to sell the place. It got re-sold again and again, never regaining the glory of its prime. A shame really."
"It's a shame I asked." Sakyo exhales a plume of cigarette smoke before stamping out the butt. He's not at all interested in industry. Present or past.
"You're a real piece of work, Sakyo. If nothing else, try to keep your shit talk to yourself tonight. My Number Four doesn't take kindly to criticisms or smart assed kids."
He's aware of his father's numeric system code to avoid calling people by name. Or maybe it was because he couldn't be bothered to remember who he was talking to besides the stage of the job needing to be done. He's almost indignant at not knowing of this secret employee. More than likely he's another sullen, ill-educated fellow with nothing of interest to contribute to a conversation, lest they share too much of themselves and their personal life. Secrecy and privacy were respected to ensure loyalty. A lifelong contract left very little room for animosity to grow without risking an unfortunate early termination.
The two enter through the impossible darkness of the lower entrance, a delivery docking station meant for trucks to drop off their shipments back when business was booming. It's silent.
"Where's your man?" Sakyo asks.
"Toji should be here already getting to work. He's predictable in his work ethics."
Ammonia. Sharp and sweet. It hits the nose like an open handed slap. His father laughs at the sour expression on the boy's face, imagining how he's going to react when he sees the source of the smell.
There's a crack of light ahead, spitting light between the spaces of a set of swinging doors. Sakyo finds himself oddly anxious to see who is on the other side. His father brushes past when he hesitates.
"Good evening, my friend. I hope everything is coming along well?" Kazahaya-san greets someone.
Sakyo follows behind, pushing through the double doors. He isn't prepared at all for what awaits them.
There is a long tabletop stretching across the room, most likely used as a prep work station when the factory was operational. It's still a prep station now too. Only the work being done is much more gruesome than any bakery ever saw the likes of. There's a body spread across the metal slab. It's been severed in half. There are buckets on the floor collecting blood overspilling the sides. The stench of ammonia is concentrated strongest here to cover the other smells. There's a man in all black with his back turned to the door. He's wearing rubber gloves that reach past his elbows. His hands are wrist-deep in the chest of the corpse.
The man in all black turns around. He's wearing a surgical face mask. "Hey, boss. Just getting started. There's another job coming I hear."
"Courtesy of Sakyo, who will be your shadow tonight, Shi-san. It's time he sees all the hard work you do for our family to keep our lives simple." Kazahaya motions to his son standing to his left who's staring with his mouth hanging open, though it's still covered by the hand pinching his nose shut.
So this is Man Number Four. Toji, or Shi-san as his father referred to him. He's enormous, with stark black bangs shielding a set of cold eyes regarding him warily. He doesn't smile to greet his boss's son. The mask would have hidden it even if he did. "Sorry, I don't follow. What's this about?"
"Nothing you need to be concerned over. I just want my boy to get a sense of responsibility for his actions. Maybe then you can get some more time off."
That translates well. Watch the brat, let him see some fucked up shit, get paid more to work less in the future. It was a deal Toji could live with. So he nods and says nothing. Kazahaya eats up his obedience like he always does. He doesn't know what he'd do without his Number Four. There isn't anyone who's proved to be as discreet, calculated, perfected. Toji has innate talent for this.
"Well I'll be leaving you two to get to it then," Kazahaya turns to make his way to the exit.
"What?! You're leaving me alone with him?" Sakyo is outraged. He wasn't told his father would be abandoning him to the likes of this horrid stranger.
"You're slow to pick up on these things. You need to learn to read between the lines more often." Then he gestures back to his bloodied employee, "Call my driver when the drop is done. I'll have my son picked up."
Again Toji nods.
After Kazahaya-san departs, there is only silence. And dripping sounds.
Sakyo fumbles to pull out another cigarette, looking for anything else to focus on.
"No smoking," the man states as he flops one of the corpse's arms back up from where it had drooped over the edge. "The fumes from the solvents and disinfectant are bad enough without you adding to it. You'll have to wait."
With irritation, Sakyo clicks the case closed again and pockets it. He looks around for anything else in the room to take his attention off the grisly scene in front of him. There is nothing of course. The dripping is louder now than it was before.
Sakyo crosses his arms, trying to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose, at the same time wondering how much safer that was.
"Do you have another mask?" he asks.
"Sure don't," the man replies.
"...Give me yours then," Sakyo demands.
"Suck my dick," Toji says.
The boy's mouth opens wider, this time in shock. No one has ever dared to speak to him like that before. Much less with his father more than likely still parked out front.
Shi-san turns to glance at him, appraising the nice suit and shoes the kid had on. He was gonna have his work cut out for him keeping this egotistical bastard in check.
"You'll have to open wider than that," he chuckles.
"You can't talk to me that way! I'll…I'll–"
"You'll eat my shit after you suck my dick, kid. You can't touch me. Your old man is the one who wants you here, I don't. You stay out of the way and try not to throw up too much. I'll have to clean that up too." The man goes back to the corpse on the table, taking out the organs from the chest and dropping them into separate buckets that didn't contain blood.
Each body brought to him has to be cut above the diaphragm, any lower and the digestive tract gets ruptured. The smell would be worse if he made an error, but he never does. The organs come out next. Everything that would usually be donated to medical use post mortem, except these can't be traced back. They won't be donated. The limbs have to come off of course, and then chopped into smaller segments. Hands and feet were easier. There was a grinder in house that could pulverize the smallest bones of the extremities into a sausage-like paste. The sounds were ghastly, so he always did this part first to get it over and done with. Not that the sound of bones being sawed was any better.
It isn't long before he hears Sakyo's vomit hit the floor.
"Goddamnit, what did I say earlier?"
The boy is coughing, trying to keep his shoulder length hair out of his face. His shoes are splattered with stomach acid.
Toji sighs and strides over to a window. He cracks it open, letting a breeze waft through.
"Come stand over here. It shouldn't be as bad now."
Hanging his head out the window, Sakyo pants for fresh air greedily. How can that man bear this!
"How…How much longer?" he moans.
"Hours, kid. One breakdown takes me three hours. And then I have another one thanks to you. So make yourself comfortable."
"Stop calling me a kid! I'm an adult!" He shouldn't have tried to raise his voice. The effort makes him dry heave again.
Toji ignores the outburst, knowing damn well how old the little shit is. He caps the lids of the buckets into place. One body needed six buckets for disposal. The head is all that's left behind. It'll be thrown into a black bucket last, then filled with quick cement so it could later be tossed into one of the bayside harbors.
Top half was done. Now for the bottom.
There's another groan from the windowsill where Sakyo slumps. "How can you bear it?" he wails.
"You get used to it after a while."
"So what's with the mask?"
"It's to keep blood out of my mouth," the man explains.
Sakyo vomits again, making an even bigger mess for Toji to have to deal with later.
It's closer to four hours before Toji announces both bodies are finished and ready for transport.
"Where are we going?" Sakyo inquires weerily.
"We're carrying these to the box truck you passed on the way in."
"Then we're done?" He tries to ignore the insinuation that he was expected to handle any of those atrocious containers himself. There's nothing left in his system for him to vomit up. He'd watched as Toji sprayed the floor clean then dumped solvent down the drains to follow, killing any possible DNA traces in the process.
"Heh. Kid, you think we can just leave these behind us? We gotta deliver them to make them disappear. Otherwise there's no point to my job" He rattles a set of keys. "Let's go."
He takes his mask off, revealing his face for the first time, then hands Sakyo a bucket.
"This one is the lightest."
Sakyo is staring directly into those penetrating eyes again. His hand reaches to accept the horrid thing before he can protest. The boy keeps his eyes glued to the back of Toji's head as he follows him to the loading dock. They have to make several trips for all of the fourteen buckets, but Sakyo doesn't murmur any complaint.
Toji hops into the driver's seat, cranking the vehicle to life. Then they're off, rumbling through the pathway of the secured lots adjoining the abandoned bakery.
Swallowing nervously, Sakyo casts repeated glances at his driver.
"How's your stomach?" The man asks. "I should have some gum in the glove compartment if you need it."
Instead, rolling the window down on his side, Sakyo asks. "Can I smoke now?"
"Go ahead, kid." Toji feels he more than earned it. He was surprised how little the whelp had actually vocalized a complaint to the job being done.
"Still an adult," Sakyo retorts as he lights up.
"Twenty isn't grown. You still act the same."
"The same as what? You speak like you know me."
Toji turns and grins for the first time at Sakyo. It isn't a pleasant sight.
"Believe me. I know you. I've been cleaning up your messes long enough. You're an indignant little shit who can't stand to be challenged. The thought of someone not doing as you say makes you see red. You're also left-handed when you attack someone now, but you aren't ambidextrous. You probably broke your right hand some time ago during one of your tantrums so it's not as strong as it used to be."
There isn't much Sakyo can argue with. All of those things are correct.
"How do you–"
"Because I handle your bodies. I see what you do and how you do it. You used to have someone else do the first step for you, but that didn't last long, did it? You got bored I'm sure. There's no thrill in pressing buttons to make someone disappear."
There wasn't.
"You started using your hands after that. Knives, strangulation, eye gouging. Hateful stuff. Especially for people you barely knew."
Sakyo ashes his cigarette nonchalantly.
"Pests."
"Well now you get to see what happens to them." Toji flips off the engine,
They've arrived at their first destination. There are three drops they need to make. Blood, meat, head.
This is a fertilizer plant. The stench in the air dwarfs the putrid acridness of the previous location. Sakyo's head is dizzy again already.
"Can I just wait here?"
"Nope. You can't leave my sight." The man reaches over and unbuckles the boy's seatbelt. "Go on."
With many complaints being muttered under his breath, he follows as Toji approaches what looks like another docking station. He knocks at the bay door and it slides open. A man comes out to help him carry in the delivery so Sakyo doesn't have to handle the blood buckets again. It's a quick drop, they're back on the road in under ten minutes.
"What happens to the blood?" Sakyo ventures.
"Give me a smoke and I'll tell you," Toji holds a hand out, motioning for a cig. When he feels one in his palm, he lights it before answering.
"It's used to enrich fertilizer. They mix it right in along with pig blood from stockyards."
After a moment of silence, Sakyo dares to ask where they're going next.
"To the stockyards," Toji grunts. This part is the most unpleasant. He doesn't see the sense in telling the kid now though. He'll find out soon enough. It would be better to let it catch him off guard anyway. Kazahaya-san might appreciate it if his son were more disgusted.
The drive isn't as far as the first stop, but the city is now far behind them. In the rural outskirts of the developed metro lies the mid countryside. Pig farms mostly. There were cows too, but Toji never made drops there. Cows are herbivores.
This time when he parks the truck, Sakyo opens his door and gets out. This time he joins Toji at the rear to help carry the load. They each only grab one. He doesn't complain. He's taken a piece of gum from the glove compartment so he doesn't gag. Again the smells have escalated. The odor of pig shit had been at the fertilizer plant as well, but here the ripeness was much worse.
"No knocking this time. We walk it down," Toji instructs. He leads Sakyo through the side gate. It was left unlocked tonight because someone else sent word ahead of time. It's hard to keep up behind the man who nearly vanishes in the dark.
There's a distinct change in terrain as Sakyo's shoes sink into what he knows to be more than just mud. He curses, nearly stumbling when the ground attempts to keep him sealed to one spot as he struggles with the weight of his load. The sound of pigs reaches his ears.
Suddenly he realizes he has no idea what they're doing here. Before he can ask, he gets his answer. There's a pop as Toji pries open the lid of a bucket with a knife from his pocket. The next sound is a wet sloughing splatter as he slings the contents into the long trough at the center of the yard. The pigs come squealing, overjoyed at the surprise midnight snack.
Sakyo is transfixed as Toji takes the second bucket from his hands. Their fingers brush. Sakyo doesn't breathe for multiple reasons. Not all of them being the stench.
Again he watches the man repeat the action, dumping the second steaming pile of viscera to the hogs. There was leftover feed from the day still at the bottom. It quickly becomes a slimy pink paste.
Again the dropoff takes less than ten minutes. After kicking their shoes clean on the tires of the vehicle, they depart.
Two pig farms are needed per body. There were two bodies tonight. There are six more pops of the bucket lids. Six more choruses of giddy shrieking pigs, eager to stuff their faces.
It's after 4 AM by the time they're driving to the harbor. The easiest part. The cemented bucket with the head will go onto a barge. That's it. An entire identity and lifetime erased.
"We're done. What did you think?" Toji relights the cigarette he'd put out earlier. It tastes stale, but he doesn't mind. He's getting paid in full tomorrow. There should be money wired to his account by the time he wakes up.
Sakyo no longer hides his direct stare as he appraises Toji with a different perspective than when he first met him.
"Fascinating," was his only reply.
"Utterly fascinating.
…
"Boys! Come eat," Toji knocks at your door. Immediately he retreats to the kitchen again, lest he hear a sound that inclines anything physical happening in your room. The big coward would die of a heart attack if he witnessed that.
"Not a moment too soon! I'm starved," you exalt as you close your textbook.
Junpei is the most patient tutor you've had, hands down, but that doesn't change your attention span for numbers and their bullshit. If anything, it's harder for you to care about finding the value of x when your fingers are interlocked with his. It's been hard to separate yourselves for more than a minute before the urge for physical contact hits again, forcing you to seek his hand out again.
Exiting your room, you give each other a secret smile as you let go of each other. As you assist Toji in setting the table, Junpei wanders over to the dusty bookshelf by the balcony to peruse what Toji may keep in his collection. Of course there was a copy of Sun Tzu's work, Junpei would be surprised if he didn't see it here, but to his surprise, there are also several poetry collections that don't seem much like Toji's type of reading material. How odd.
At the bottom shelf, Junpei sees a photograph, the only one in the entire apartment it seems, so he bends to get a closer look. A woman with dark hair and bright eyes crinkling at the corners smiles at him. She has one hand up, waving at the photographer, and the other resting over her stomach. Junpei understands the importance of the gesture. It seems like a protective pose…She must be pregnant. There's also a ceramic vase with two red cranes painted flying together with their wing tips touching. A lid covers the top. Junpei knows what this is. Usually when a stranger dies, he can't force himself to feel much. Plenty of people are rotten and leave the world better off when they go. He turns to observe Toji, standing over the stove with a grave look in his eyes that said he was in a world of his own. Maybe he was smiling when he took this picture of his wife. That must have been so long ago. Junpei kneels, offering a small respectful utterance with his head bowed.
You're too busy setting out plates and spoons to notice what your friend is up to, but Toji doesn't miss it. He shakes his head to himself as he turns the flames down on the stove burner.
"Junpei, You don't have to do that."
Rising up, your friend sheepishly rubs his arm. "I don't mind. It's nice that you have her here. My mom…She never put my dad out when we moved. She says it makes her too sad. So I don't see him anymore."
"That's…too bad," Toji admits. Nagi had told him she lost her husband even more recently than Toji lost his wife. Junpei was only seven years old. The first ten years are the hardest, Toji said to her. After that, they're still hard, but you grow more accustomed to things being hard so it matters less.
"She was very pretty," Junpei utters politely, nodding his head back to the photo on the shelf.
"Yeah...She was." Toji agrees.
Desperate to lighten the mood, you recall the art project from school you have to work on anyway. "Hey, Toji! Wanna help with my homework after dinner?"
"More math? No, thanks." He brings an enormous pot of beef curry to the table center.
"Actually, it's for my art class. You just have to sit for a portrait."
His nose wrinkles and he gives you a perturbed face.
"Please? The assignment is supposed to be a family member." You fold your hands together in a pleading motion.
"You can make one up," he suggests. "You're creative."
"I'll only make them look like you," you argue as you serve your plate then reach for his to do the same. "So you might as well agree to it."
Still unconvinced, he shakes his head. "I don't want you staring at me that long. It's weird."
"I can watch you in your sleep if you like?" you scoot your chair closer to him, giving him your best wide eyed stare. "Would that make you more comfortable, sensei?"
He shudders and shoves your face back, scooting your chair across the floor. "Cut it out! Fine, I'll do your stupid art project with you. Just don't make your eyes bulge like that again. You look like a haunted doll."
Junpei clears his throat to interject. "Fushiguro's a really good artist. Our teacher sent his last piece to be judged nationally."
Toji quirks an eyebrow in your direction. "Is that so? Do you get anything if you win?"
Swallowing the bite of curry you're chewing, you roll your eyes. "Ugh, not even petty cash! It's all for the art department to receive a grant or whatever. I'm supposed to put it on a college resume, or something."
He shakes his head. "What a fucking waste."
"That's what I said!" you huff. "It's theft is what it is…"
Junpei observes the two of you quietly as he eats. From an outside perspective, no one would guess you and Toji weren't related if they were sitting here listening to the two of you having the same argument with different voices. You'd picked up on several of his mannerisms since living together. The way you both lean on the table as you eat, like you're protecting it from someone who may take it from you is identical. Your friend can't help but smile as he thinks to himself how very much like a real father Toji is to you. It's good that you have each other. Without you around, Toji must have been living like Junpei's mother after her loss. Sleeping alone, barely eating and showering, only leaving the apartment to work. Death always takes more than one life with it. Toji must have had a significant loss judging by the state of his wife in that photo. Was she pregnant when she died? Junpei can't even begin to imagine how he pulled himself through that.
"I hope Mrs. Hama doesn't deduct points for how ugly your hair is," you complain as you brush back some of Toji's greasy strands out of his eyes.
He responds by catapulting a spoonful of rice into your face. "Eat shit."
Hearing a giggle, the two of you turn to Junpei.
"What's so funny?" you demand in unison.
"N-nothing! You two are just…so alike is all," he remarks.
You and Toji stare each other down now, ironically not seeing the resemblances at all.
After clearing away the dishes, Toji steps out onto the balcony for his after-dinner smoke. You and Junpei settle in front of the TV as you try to focus on anything else in the world besides the flicking spark of his lighter. You'd kill for a smoke right now. It's been a whole week since your last drag. You've been so good, that deserves a reward doesn't it?
"You want a cigarette, don't you?" Junpei asks, already reading your mind. Though the way you bit your nails off and on over the last few days is also a clear indicator that you're missing your favorite oral fixation. He's also caught you chewing your pencils in class lately too.
You sulk, feeling guilty. "Sorry. Old habits die hard, as they say. I smoked for years."
"Even though…" he trails off, not wanting to address your scars verbally again.
Luckily you picked up on his intention. "Yeah. I guess I always just blamed my dad, not the cigarettes. They're not made to be weapons."
Junpei sighs. "Go ahead."
"Are you sure? It's not going to bother you if I smoke?"
"Sure, it's going to bother me. Just like when I see my mom smoking. But…You probably smoke after your fights anyway, right? I saw lots of people at the railyards doing the same thing," he reasons to make it more palatable for himself.
"Right…" You'd actually let it slip your mind when you left the ring. Not only because you were being rushed, but also because you'd been too distracted by his hand in yours.
Now there's a thought.
"Junpei, come here a sec?"
When he looks up, you cup his cheek in your palm, enjoying the soft dreamy look on his face before leaning in. He makes a soft sound of surprise but kisses you back.
When you pull away, he's smiling but his cheeks are pure crimson. "Wh-what was that for?" he asks without a trace of disapproval in his voice.
With a smirk, you tuck his hair away from his face to look into his eyes. "I just thought it'd be a better habit to start. Can I kiss you instead whenever I feel like I want to smoke? Is that okay with you?"
Okay? He couldn't be more delighted with the idea of becoming your new addiction.
"God, yes," he breathes. "Besides…If you smoked, I'd probably stop kissing you."
"Jesus, Junpei. You drive a hard bargain." You're genuinely surprised he'd hit you with an ultimatum. Not that it would be any real contest. You'd give anything to keep the privilege of kissing him whenever you want.
"That's right. And I've got a great sense of smell, so don't even try to sneak. I can always tell when my mom's been pretending that she quit. I call her out too, so don't expect any special treatment if you make a promise to me, Fushiguro." His eyes harden so you can tell he means what he's saying. There's that odd feeling his serious face gives you again too. What the hell is that? Something about it makes you feel like you'd be in very real trouble if you crossed him.
The balcony door slides again and Toji ashes his cigarette in the tray on the ground outside.
"Alright, mutt, I'll give you thirty minutes to start, then we're taking your friend home."
"I could always walk him home? I do it everyday." you offer.
"It's late," he needlessly notes. "I'll drive."
Weird, you think. He never volunteers to drive. You shrug and gesture with your pencil in the air like a conductor. "Alright, so how are we doing this? I'm thinking Rococo style, lots of peonies as a border, blush for the cheeks…"
Toji's death glare cuts off your attempt at a joke.
"Kidding! God, take it easy. You're so defensive about your looks."
"Everyone is," he snipes.
"Ugh, whatever. Just sit your ass on the couch and pretend we aren't even here. It'll be best to do something candid anyway." You're already pulling out your drawing pad and pencils from your backpack to do the primary sketch, knowing his patience for this may wear thin so you'll need to work quickly.
Right away he scoops up the remote and changes the channel. "You kids and your paranormal crap. How can you sleep at night? You know that shit's real, right?" He clicks the channel over to a black and white movie. Something with samurais. You roll your eyes.
You snicker and give Junpei a side glance in amusement, then sketch your rudimentary shapes to get started. You decided to sit on his left side to capture his profile. His scar would make the portrait more interesting anyway.
After a few minutes, Toji casts a glance your way, trying to see your progress. It's too vague for him to judge yet, so there's probably no issue with him moving a bit. He sits back and drapes his arms across the back of the couch. Coming out from her hiding place, Miyuki hops up onto his lap, making herself comfortable.
He's patient as you sketch, trying to be conscious of each breath he takes, each little blink. Even his fingers remain motionless in the cat's fluffy white fur.
"Jeez, Toji. You can relax a little bit, we're not hunting rabbits here, so just breathe normally." You grin as he readjusts, though only minorly.
He's much too stressed to even think about relaxing. While on the balcony, his head kept swiveling left and right like a metronome, watching for any indication that he might have been followed home from the railyard.
As he ficks through the channels, finding it difficult to focus on anything, there's a noticeable tremble in his fingertips again.
.
.
.
To Be continued…..
Notes:
I will be posting an illustration in the next 48 hrs!