Host bar // kazuscara

Kaedehara Kazuha

There was once a famous clan in ancient Japan named the Kaedehara clan. 

One famous young male who was to inherit the clan was named Kazuha. Kaedehara Kazuha.

Kazuha's mother was extremely interested in these types of ancient Japanese history, especially when just so coincidentally a famous clan that went by the name Kaedehara was also their family name. Naturally, she had to do what any parent did to their children—giving them celebrity names.

Kaedehara Kazuha. Meaning, a myriad of leaves in the wind. Pursuit for freedom, where leaves leave their mark in the sky.

But Kazuha doesn't seem to fit the category.

He is just a boring white-collar you could probably grab off the streets.

Eat. Sleep. Work. His life summed up in a nutshell. Waking up to the call of his alarm was always the same as yesterday, where he'd pull bread and milk out from the fridge for breakfast.

it's going to get better, is what he likes to blind himself with. He'll save up enough money to live a better life in the future, is what he lies to himself with. With every passing day, his life feels as if it's resetting itself every time he climbed into bed, drifting off into sleep. A cage.

"Are you good, son?" A voice would snap him from his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. He had spent the last 30 minutes staring down at the waters on a highway bridge. 

He wasn't suicidal, far from it. Perhaps the other man only wanted him good. He thanked the other awkwardly in his head. He turned away from the waters, towards the man. 

"I'm fine," he gave the other a faint smile. Genuine, but a tint of sorrow seeped out. 

Sorrowful that he had to live the same life every day, sorrowful that he had to be trapped in this cage of endless repetition. He would've escaped. He would've. If he just had a normal life like any other child, maybe he wouldn't end up in a shitty job like this. Mechanical, lifeless.

Maybe if his mother didn't leave him behind during his most golden years, he could be working as a CEO. Sitting in a chair, sipping morning coffee, looking down upon the city of Tokyo slowly rousing from yesterday's slumber.

23. Lonely. Barely getting by. 

Perhaps God hated him. Perhaps God absolutely despised him. He wanted to watch him suffer as he took the life out of Kazuha. Every day sowing another string of somber deep down into his skin. Draining him empty drop by drop, until he was a dry human shell. 

He had to be different. And God hated that.

"Something stressful at work?" the other jested. Kazuha only realized now the other man had propped his arms onto the rim of the bridge handles, just like Kazuha.

Kazuha stayed silent. He glanced at the other man without a word. 

Grotesque nose. Eyes so small you can barely see his pupils. His double chin so visible you'd think it was a pelican bird's mouth. 

What the hell is he doing here, anyway? Kazuha would think to himself, glaring at the man, eyebrows furrowed slightly. It was unnoticeable, it was nothing more than just a twitch.

"No need to keep it in, son." he chuckled, "I know you're looking at me and thinking; 'Wow, that guy is mad ugly'." He bobbed his head up and down, amused at the high elevation of the bridge they stood on. 

He must've grown used and numb to these stares. Enough to pick out the faint rustles of uncomfortable shifting in the sticky silence. 

Kazuha sighed, letting out a breath he didn't know was holding.