Kaido
present
I left the slums when I was thirteen. I was an idiot. That place follows you no matter where you run. It may as well be a jealous lover, a ghost haunting those who try to abandon it. When I'm alone, I feel its starved, dirty fingers on the scars I covered with ink. It indents the flesh, reminds me of the pain we suffered together.
Say what you will about suffering. It's more binding than love.
My apartment, the small space I can't even call my own, is a shell. Sitting in it makes me feel like an intruder. I've broken into this world, the riches of this cage reminding me of it with every step.
One of the pillars tethering floor to ceiling serves as a headrest, my knees hills for elbows to sit upon as the city refuses to rest in the night. Lights occupy all the stories trapped in their own cages across the maze of skyscrapers.
I can't even look too hard, try to read them. If I do, the little boy in me cries, terrified of falling through the glass. All that's come to quiet him is a gardener who tends to dying dandelions and broken boys.
I tug at my hair, feel the crinkled paper Sora gave me rubbing against my palm.
Ame treats me like I deserve a pedestal, but at the same time wants to smack me. He used to cower to my teasing, now he kisses my neck for it. I still feel his lips there, the warmth I didn't know could outmatch mine.
He's playful when you give him the chance to be. He's kind and good at listening. He overthinks and he frowns when he's frustrated. His hair is midnight, his eyes are angelic with a devil's color. His temper is foul, his self-esteem is in the dirt.
He's beautiful. I wish he knew that.
Because when you're weak people either pity or kill you. It's how the world works. My gardener carries drum sticks and a knife yet he uses neither to beat nor cut me. If I put up a glass wall, he's the only one who catches the streaks of light and presses his hand against it, asks me to tear it down. When he is hurt, he has teeth. When he is threatened, his blade unsheaths.
But show him your weakness, tear down your walls, and he will hold you upright. He'll tell you his secrets as you tell him yours. He'll hug you close in a mall restroom so the panic can't strangle you. He'll even tap his fingers along your shoulder blades in the rhythm of his music and offer you a raincoat.
I'll never trust anyone. I already made that promise. But after today, I find that my past's ghost is as curious about Ame as I am.
The tiny paper in my hand ruffles. I release it from my fist as it asks, drag the corners out of their crumpled state. A phone number sits across the top. The bottom reads:
Seesa is gone...
I haven't seen Sora in four years. He was a scrawny little thing when we first met. Covered in soot, barely alive enough to stand. He held a blade like a starving child holds a loaf of bread. He's almost a man now. Tall, muscled, the fat parts of his face thinning. The feral nature of his eyes is all that remains the same. The fact that I might not have recognized him if it did stings as much as the Slum's bony grip begging me to come home.
I wonder what Suru looks like now. The little girl whose hair I braided and books I stole. And what of Copperhead? Who never wanted to be called by his real name and hugged me around the back as if I were a hot stone.
Seesa's always been good. He brought money home despite being the youngest. He tried to cook and clean. He broke up the fights between Copper and Sora when I wasn't home. But he was naive. I told Tenko from the first day we found him that he'd be eaten alive.
