Do Scars Fade: a Heisei Kumi Fanfic (1/18)
Author: ryosukekoibito
Pairing: Keito-centric, with some side Ariyama and Chiitaro
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence
Genre: Slice of life
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone.
Summary: Keito is left in a state of depression after the loss of his boyfriend, but with the help of his housemates he begins to regain his appreciation for life, and find happiness again.
A/N: This is another instalation in my Heisei Kumi AU! This fic is a direct sequel to Sequence of Upsets, and is the third one written from Keito's perspective. If you haven't read Sequence of Upsets, or the first fic, My New Family, then you may be confused. This fic starts at the end of February 2014, so about six months after Sequence of Upsets ends. Enjoy!
Keito was sitting alone at the kitchen table, all of the other chairs having been pushed haphazardly into their places as his housemates had all gone off to their beds, leaving him the last one downstairs. He sighed, his eyes casting their empty gaze blankly over the wood of the tabletop, his thick black hair tousled from when Inoo had ruffled it earlier. Keito didn't have the energy to care enough to fix it. He sighed again, his whole body feeling worn, stretched thin by the trial of time; but he couldn't fall asleep. He didn't really want to. He didn't really not want to, but he would have to stand up, would have to climb the stairs to get to his bed, and he didn't have the motivation to do that. He didn't have the motivation to do much of anything anymore it seemed; except bargain internally with the universe.
It had been just barely over six months since Shoon had died. Six long months; the longest of his life. Worse than the days leading up to his parents' divorce, worse than the days after a bad raid, when he'd been so sore and broken he could barely move, every attempt painful. At least after a fight his wounds had been a visible thing. Then he could watch the healing process; he could see himself getting better. This time everything was internal, but the pain was the worst he'd ever felt. It was sharp, like knives or bits of glass embedded into his body, into his organs, and he hadn't known that grief could be such a physically debilitating thing before now. The pain had been harsh and unrelentless for weeks; and even now sometimes it would hit him full force out of nowhere, and he'd find himself physically unable to breathe.
At first he hadn't known what to do, he hadn't known how to express anything he was feeling, and he'd mostly just cried. He was constantly dehydrated due to his crying, but he could barely be bothered to drink anything. He hid himself away most days, knowing that he was in no state to try and be around others that were also grieving, knowing that he could offer no comfort. Every feeling was heightened. Every physical pain seemed much more extreme than it ever had before, and he'd been lost in it, and eventually he became so sick of the hurting, so sick of the pain, that he got angry.
He had never been angry like this before. It was bubbling inside of him, the harsh rage emerging in little fits; and he'd punched walls and yelled, but he never felt better afterward. He had still cried a great deal, his frustration with himself, with his grief, with the fact that the man he loved was dead causing harsh, new tears to run down his face. He'd never hit anyone, but he'd yelled at Chinen, to his-and everyone else's-shock. Yet the anger hadn't lasted long; he wasn't the angry type, he never had been, and it was just a front for his longing. Because more than anything he just wanted Shoon back. It made him sick how much he missed the older man, the want an ache in his chest that had become a constant presence, one Keito felt wasn't going to go away. One he wasn't sure he wanted to go away.
After the anger had subsided he'd come to realize his own desperation for Shoon's presence. The only thing he wanted in the world was to have Shoon again. To see that grand tattoo of the sun painted on his lean back, to have those big doe eyes rake over his face, affection making his pink lips quirk upwards in a smile. All he wanted was to run his fingers over the bumps and tight textures of Shoon's scars, to take the shorter man's hand in his own, to hear his intelligent voice murmuring sweet words in Keito's ear playfully. He wanted it all back. He wanted to just erase the cancer from their lives, from Shoon's life, and before he knew it he found himself bargaining.
He bargained with God. He bargained with fate. He bargained with the universe. He bargained with time. He bargained with anyone, or anything that could be listening. He promised that he would do anything to get Shoon back. His attempts at deals ranged from simple to immensely elaborate, yet they were never answered. It had almost become a subconscious thing for him. Everyday he would make up new ones, his heart aching in his chest, his mind clouded with his grief, and every morning he couldn't suppress the hope that the universe; or God or whoever; had heard his pleas, and had accepted them, and that Shoon would be there. Everyday he was grounded again by the old photo album now resting permanently on their coffee table, and the out of service black cell phone tucked into his sock drawer. He'd begun to dread going to sleep, because he hated even more so waking up, and finding himself alone again.
His eyes caught on a small house fly buzzing around the kitchen, the creature eventually landing only a few centimeters from his hand. If I don't kill this fly, will you bring Shoon back to me? He propositioned the universe internally, watching the delicate creature for a few moments before the sound of footsteps on the stairs caught his attention, his head flicking up to look at the staircase. His movement caused the fly to take off, it's trajectory taking it right past the stairs. A hand snatched out, crushing it as soon as it was within arm’s reach, before letting it fall to the floor. Keito felt a sharpness catch in one of his lungs at the sight.
"Keito?" It was Yuto, Keito's friend and roommate walking drearily over to him. His lean, muscular body was draped in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he'd obviously already completed his bedtime ritual, his hair still just barely damp from his shower. Yuto put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "C'mon. Let's go to bed. You're going to need your strength for tomorrow." Yuto murmured, looking down at him, concern in his eyes. Keito nodded, getting sluggishly to his feet, and he followed Yuto back up the stairs, knowing that Yuto was right. Tomorrow was an important day; one that they were all anxious about.
The past few months had been littered with the Wakaba Group's poking and prodding. They had been taking advantage of the Heisei Kumi's state of grief, and had for the most part gone without reprimand. Hikaru had decided that he was fed up, and had announced at the beginning of February that the end of the month would bring with it a raid on the Wakaba's base. They'd decided on the evening of the twenty-seventh, and now with dawn would come the day of the battle at last.
It was an event that Keito had been for the most part ignoring; it seemed far off and unimportant. Participating in a big event like a battle felt almost like moving on, and therefore Keito had felt like it wasn't ever going to happen. It seemed like the raid would always just stay three weeks away, perpetually on the agenda but impossible to reach. His world had stopped moving forward on that horrible day in August, and it had yet to start again.
Yet when he woke the following morning it was February twenty-seventh, and throughout the day there were the usual preparations. Yamada sat up in the living room with Daiki and Inoo, chatting quietly while sharpening his sword. While they talked Inoo fiddled with his butterfly knife, the older man's dainty fingers twisting the deadly blade with careless precision. As Keito watched it he subconsciously reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, running his fingers over the engraving in the handle on his own knife, Yuto meanwhile trying to coerce him into eating something. Hikaru and Yabu were sitting at the kitchen table, the Kumi-cho and his right hand man taking inventory of all of their medical supplies, and discussing strategy.
That evening they had an early dinner, Hikaru explaining the plan he'd come up with for the raid as they ate, everyone listening attentively. It was pretty straightforward. This raid was meant to do only one thing; remind the Wakaba of the damage they could cause. There wasn’t much in the way of finesse. They were going to kick some ass and they weren’t going to be discreet about it. There wasn’t going to be any sneaking around or any attempts at an element of surprise. They were going to go in fists swinging and split up, bust as many faces as possible, and then haul ass back home. Daiki was enthusiastic about the idea; it suited his preferences perfectly.
Keito didn’t really have an opinion on the strategy-or lack thereof. He just listened quietly, and then after the meal had been completed and the dishes had been tended to he followed Yuto upstairs, the two changing into their suits in moderate silence. A wave of nauseating grief hit Keito as he pulled his suit out of the closet, his eyes stinging with tears, and he felt his knees go weak. He sank down onto Yuto’s mattress, taking big breaths, trying to calm down. He hadn’t expected the suit to affect him so much. He’d last worn it for Shoon’s funeral, but…but he’d worn it to so many other functions, he just hadn’t thought. Yuto was immediately concerned, and although he was practically naked; only in his socks and underwear, he plopped down next to Keito, a comforting hand on his back.
“Hey…hey, it’s going to be okay.” Yuto murmured, Keito nodding weakly. “We’re just going to go break some bastards’ faces. That’s all.”
“I, I know. I’m sorry.” Keito muttered, frustrated with himself.
“No! No, don’t apologize Keito. Just…”
“I’m fine. Thanks Yuto.” Keito said quietly, standing and refusing to look at Yuto, refusing to let his friend see the unshed tears that he knew shone in his eyes. He grabbed the suit with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary, and he began putting it on, listening for the sounds of Yuto getting to his feet, the action showing that the younger man had effectively accepted that the conversation was over. Yuto finished dressing before him, and he slipped out, back downstairs. When Keito came down Yuto grabbed him by the shoulder, nodding over to the Kumi-cho’s office.
“Hikaru wants to see you.” He said, looking slightly embarrassed, and Keito knew that Yuto must have told their leader something. He just nodded, walking over to the half open door and knocking quietly on the doorframe.
“Come on in, Keito.” Hikaru’s voice called from the adjoining room, and Keito slipped inside, shutting the door behind himself, as Hikaru emerged from his bedroom, the older man in his slacks, his white button up shirt only halfway done, his beautiful fingers dancing on the buttons, still working them into their holes as he walked. The office had grown to be even neater under Hikaru than it ever had been when Chinen had worked in it, and Keito was surprised to see documents and pages of notes Hikaru had written strewn across the surface of the desk. The desk's messy state barely got a moment's thought, Keito's main focus on his leader as Hikaru came to stop in front of him.
"Yuto said you're having a bit of a rough time with the whole raid thing tonight." Though Hikaru's tone was professional, his eyes were wide with concern as he started tying his tie. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. We're going to need you tonight." Keito felt embarrassed for having worried Hikaru. Surely he had more important things to mull over than Keito's mental state. Keito felt exhausted, everything took an extra effort, and he was still shaking off the sharp pains of grief that had overtaken him upstairs. But he set his shoulders, assuring Hikaru
"I'm fine."
"Keito, we both know that's not true." Hikaru's tone had gone soft, and Keito found that he had to look away.
"I-" There was a knock on the door, and then Yabu popped his head in, the older man blinking in surprise at finding Keito in with Hikaru.
"You two ready? Everyone's good to go." Keito took a step back from Hikaru, the Kumi-cho nodding and reaching for his suit jacket. He slung it on as they left the office, the living room now full of their housemates, everyone standing or sitting around in their suits, knives clenched in ready hands. Chinen was giving Ryutaro a kiss, the youngest two pressed up against the staircase, but at Hikaru's arrival they pulled apart, Chinen instead just taking Ryu's hand in his. Yuto had been chatting with Yamada, but they too fell silent, and they; along with the rest of their housemates, all turned to Hikaru.
"Alright. Let's go." Hikaru announced, the ones sitting getting to their feet. Hikaru led them out into the cold night, the rest of them following him in a cluster of black suits, their group melding with the darkness that the night brought with it, the moon a tiny sliver in the sky. Keito fell in at the back of the group, Takaki silently taking a spot next to him, the older man's hands shoved into his pockets, his lips pursed. Keito could feel the tension building in his housemates as they made their way into enemy territory, and as soon as they were within sight of the building Daiki let out a bellow, the sound echoing off of the surrounding structures, and they fanned out, running as the enemies burst from their base like bees from a hive.
Keito felt his heart speed up, his pulse pounding in his ears as his housemates pulled away from him, and yet the adrenaline that fighting brought with it didn't flood his system like it usually did-and as soon as his fist connected with his first opponent's face, his knuckles slamming with a painful, jarring clarity into the other man's jaw-he knew he was fucked. It was a dull realization. He kicked out, catching the man he'd punched in the stomach and doubling him over, slamming his elbow into the man's back, sending him to the floor and kicking him a few more times, before stepping hard on his head to get over his body. He'd defeated one, but it didn't take long to be overwhelmed.
He threw himself into a crowd of Wakaba members, wrapping his left arm around one and getting him into a headlock, punching him a few times before shoving him into a few of his groupmates, making them stumble backwards, and giving him the chance to square his shoulders. He ran at the group, slamming into them and kicking out blindly, feeling his foot connect with knobby bones and thick muscle. He lost sight of the building, the only thing he could see the dark forms of his opponents, and as the battle dragged on, and he found himself alone, completely surrounded with no fight in his spirit, he had the sudden realization that perhaps he didn't want to get out of this.
He'd made his way around the building until he was all the way at the back, none of his companions in sight. By that point he'd retrieved his knife from his pocket, the twin handle pieces heavy in his hand as he kicked and slashed. The left side of his ribs was sending sharp pains shooting through his chest with every inhale, and he had a small cut running down his cheek. He was slashing out in front of himself, leaning and following through with a high kick when he felt a burning, harsh pain whip across the back of his thigh as a blade cut deep into his flesh. A yelp burst from his lips, and he tried to turn and face the person that had cut him, but as he spun the blade came down on his shoulder, cutting easily into the flesh and grating into the bone. He screamed, his chest inflaming as he did so, his hurt leg collapsing under him, and he looked up to see the vaguely familiar form of Sato Takeru standing over him.
It was then that, in the midst of his pain, he had a moment of clarity. Of course the universe, or God, or fate, or whatever, hadn't given Shoon back. None of the bargains he'd made thus far had been equivalent to the worth of Shoon. To a human life. He felt his knife slip from his fingers, and a foot connected with the back of his skull, sending him face first into the freezing dirt. He was kicked a few more times, the force rolling him onto his back, and as he felt Takeru's blade whip across his throat, he offered up one last plea. Take me instead. Take me, just please give Shoon back.
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