Chapter Text
“Time is a mind construct. It’s not real.”
—Prince
Okuyasu doesn’t like to think.
There’s something about it that hurts.
Not in an obvious way. Like a paper cut or stubbing your pinky toe against a screwy, out of place nail. No, not that. It feels like an ache, almost. Like something that was prominent and heavy before, something intimately familiar. And when you reach out to touch on it just a little bit suddenly, everything is fast, racing. And you don’t even realize it. You can’t. Because it feels normal.
Not that he would know normal.
At some time or another, perhaps.
If he squinted his eyes just a little he could make himself believe that he was physically back in the past. In Tokyo. With tall mousy buildings that pierced the sky. And a rush, a constant erratic rush of people walking by and edging their way around him while Keicho held his hand, tucking him firm and safe into his side. Keicho— His eyes began to sting with tears. No. No. To thinking too much. And to going back.
He could never quite understand why some people wanted to stay and revisit the past all of the time. Or the old times, like twenty years before or so. Like they were long-lasting good times. Like they were something worthy to be in the present. The past tended to sneak up and stick on him. Cropping up and materializing to a place, like his elbow. And no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, it stayed. Forever lingering.
There was this kid in school, before he moved away with Keicho and Dad, that always talked about history. He sat right next to him in Homeroom, desk neat and orderly. Notebooks and pencils all aligned. He had square-ish glasses. Brown hair. Always looking like it was searching for different areas to stretch out. “Sensei, I know what I wanna do. I wanna be a Historian.”
At the time, he had just stared. Cheek resting and squished on his palm, eyes big and blinking. He began to drift away and wonder what that was like, having dreams. Dreams that had to do with just yourself. Having an idea or desire to make them reality.
He blinked awake.
Thinking that he heard: “Okuyasu! I’m heading out. Watch out for Dad.” Keicho.
But that must have been imagined. Maybe it was part of a dream he experienced but couldn't remember.
He didn’t hear anything in the house. And he wouldn’t. Not a shout. Nor a creak of the stairs when someone walked down it. Keicho was dead. This house was far emptier than before. And Dad had actually fallen asleep last night on an actual mattress, family photo seemingly stuck to his chest.
Then he blinked again, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes, tempted to yell out a sloppy affirmative for a ghost.
Keicho, his older brother. He used to always go out. Always doing something. Always fighting. Always hurting people.
It must have been early in the morning, because he had fallen asleep early. Doing so was a bit easier after. It had been a long day, then. A much longer night. Starting off with two people eyeing his house, two people around his age. A little guy with silver hair, Koichi. Then, Josuke. Higashikata Josuke.
The guy who had forgotten his friend. Then helped him just as fast. And figured out The Hand’s power way too quick, the bastard. Who had then, fought Keicho. Hearing his brother out. Even with loud yells echoing around their crooked house, flinching as Keicho hit Dad in the justification of discipline, gargled and pained noises simultaneously responding. Soon, fixing fixing fixing. He had never seen someone fix so much. Him and that wild-eyed Stand of his. He had also fixed that picture, the picture of all of them and his Dad, in some way or another.
He couldn't fix Keicho though, he was too far gone. Burnt to a crisp and lying on overhead power lines. He felt like that image would forever be seared into his brain. His aniki going out like that. And the last words Keicho had said to him before he died, electricity coursing around and within him: You were always holding me back. Those words made him feel cold, a sick entering his gut.
There was a time when it didn’t feel that way.
Back when they played together in the living room of their Tokyo home, golden glare of the lights washed over them. Keicho played with toy soldiers, excitement in his eyes. And Okuaysu wanted to say that he was playing with something else like barbies and shit and he may have, but toy soldiers were all that he could recall. But Mom passed. And when Dad began to hit them, there Keicho was. Standing strong. Shoulders poised. Always trying to get him somewhere safe. Someplace near him. Always close.
He shook his head. Then he cleared his throat.
It was time to get ready for the day.
There was something calming about waking up early in the morning.
For as long as he could remember, this specific frame of time was a comfort. And it was largely due to the fact that it was his. Dad was asleep for a couple more hours or so. Keicho was out a lot of the time. So this was his— he thought it as his, anyway. Of course, Keicho wasn’t here anymore so….this was going to be his more often. And he would take advantage of it best he could.
It began with cleaning.
Making sure to clean out the lingering blood stains that trailed all over the house.
As he crouched down with a bucket, cold dishwasher liquid sloshing, his thoughts drifted once again. An ambulance had been called to take Keicho’s body away. It was a strange, out of body experience, seeing your brother wheeled away and not knowing what they were going to do with him. Koichi and Josuke had left by then, but he had touched his face. His eyes. Where Bad Company had shot him, bleeding out on the floor.
I thought, ‘There’s no reason he needs to die,’ Josuke said, explaining why he fixed him. Maybe that’s why he fixed things: because he valued and understood the sanctity of life. Even if he disagreed with what people were doing with it.
Something began to poke at him from inside but he brushed it away, humming a song his Mom used to play on their old cassette player when he was younger.
As time went on, he began to see changes. The dishwashing liquid was turning pink so he had to throw it out and create some more. But before long, he was right where he needed to be. And the blood was disappearing! Actually disappearing! He had guessed on the concoction, because when alcohol or hydrogen peroxide was out, Keicho would use this to clean his wounds. Home inflicted or otherwise.
Keicho.
Tears sprang into his eyes and he did his best to stay here, stay present. But time rushed. Memories rushed.
And sped up, sped past him until he was six years old. And Keicho was pushing him on a swing, grinning as he exploded with giggles. Ten years old. And Keicho’s punching someone who pushed him down, cracking his knuckles. Years blurring as Dad changes and Keicho does too, not quite knowing it all the while. Acquiring a special bow and arrow. Choosing to attack others. Choosing to attack Dad. Choosing to attack him. And not knowing the difference between a punch and a brisk hug on warmer days.
He had expressed his desire to go to school and Keicho had okayed it without much thought. Dismissively raising a hand but making sure all the paperwork and logistics were taken care of. School.
His eyes widened, glancing up at the overhanging clock in the living room. 7:42. Shit. He needed to get ready.
As he stepped into the shower, shivering and bearing the cold for a few minutes a name came to mind. Josuke. Higashikata Josuke. He had watched him walk away, immediately noticing how close their houses were. Kinda confused about why he hadn’t seen the guy before. He definitely would have noticed him. With his audacious hairstyle and tall, broad stature. Those eyes, violet-blue and framed with thick eyelashes. But most of all, his scent. He smelled like musk and vanilla, masculine and sweet. Safe.
He had never been able to smell others besides his family.
But again, he hadn’t exactly presented. And he wasn’t one to know much about all that shit, Keicho never cared to inform him. He had always been a late bloomer. A bit on the slower side of things. If kids his age had presented he didn’t exactly know that either or what it looked like— he hadn’t interacted with other kids in a long time now.
“Hmm,” Okuyasu mumbled, sighing as the water turned warm. “That reminds me. I need to get some food for me an’ Dad.”
He washed himself as quick and efficiently as he could, stepping out and drying himself off. After that, he raced towards his room and got dressed best he could. He also made sure that his belts were just the way he liked them, collar straightened out. Something pulled at him to stay a little longer, running hands down his stomach and waist. But he soon recovered, smiling wide and posing in the full-length mirror to make himself feel a little bit better.
In the fastest maneuver ever recorded by man, Okuyasu somehow styled his hair and cooked enough eggs for Dad, running back up the stairs to place them on his bedside table. Fixing the threadbare blanket around his body and staring for a wide-eyed second before he ran into his own room, grabbing his bag and running downstairs. He quickly fit into his shoes, deciding to run over to Higashikata Josuke’s house before his mind could stop him.
Something about this felt okay.
And right. So he remembered that feeling, trusted it and opened his door.
There were a few things he needed to take care of today.
As he walked down the steps of his front porch, he observed his front yard. In a few short days he had done a lot of work. He had decided to hand pull all of the weeds invading the yard a couple days ago. There were a lot of strays and wildflowers puckered through and around the tall, dry grass. It was sort of pretty to him in a rough kind of way but he knew that they needed to be taken care of.
Back in Tokyo, even if they didn’t have much of a lawn, they had a semblance of one. And a garden of sorts. When Mom was alive, she sometimes brought him outside, laughing as his small fingers curled around manicured hands.
After he finished pulling out the weeds, he lied down on the grass, arms and legs spread wide. His legs ached a little bit from kneeling for so long, a bit dizzy from the physical exertion and humidity. He then looked up at the eggshell blue sky, shielding his eyes a little bit. He could feel a heat pushing at him from inside as well, little pokes and prods under his skin but didn’t think much of it. It was hot out after all.
Quickly stepping inside for a glass of water, he walked back outside and headed towards the back, stretching out his arms all the while. He didn’t know how he saw it, but he noticed a lawn mower, pinched behind a small cluster of trees. It looked pretty functional, rusted in places but overall, fair. Sprinting towards it, he crouched down and opened the gas valve, more than surprised to see and smell some gas inside.
He decided to mow the lawn after hand pulling all of the weeds in the back. But he chose to be cautious. Grabbing some money, he headed towards Kameyu Department Store, buying groceries and some more gas just in case, exuberantly thanking the nice Oba-san for lowering the price just a little.
Okuyasu sighed, then laced his fingers behind his neck.
He wasn’t headed to Kameyu Department Store today. But on the way back home, in between calculations to pay for a bus fare or not, he had noticed a small store entitled Flower Boutique, not too far off. So he decided to go there. He needed to honor Keicho after his cremation and burial, something that squeezed his chest the more he stuck on it.
Ah, shit. He bit his lip, kicking at a pebble in the middle of the road.
The walk felt longer than it needed to be, forcing himself to think of anything else then what he was set out to do. He thought of bringing Dad, but he didn’t want to wake him. He’d been grieving, in his own way. They’d go together another time.
A couple kids ran past him, giggles singing into his ears. And a smile inched on his mouth, wider as they began to skip around and sing. Soon, a man in a bicycle sped past him on his left, nodding politely at him. He didn’t notice Okuyasu’s nod back, already turning at the end of the block.
He had been walking fast, pace brisk and purposeful. But now, he gradually slowed. Breathing in the crisp, clean air. Closing his eyes for a second and thanking the Gods or whoever for a cooler day today. When he opened them, he looked at the houses lining the streets. Some of their grasses were green. Some yellow, from neglect and random heat spikes. There was an older couple on their front porch drinking some kind of tea, ice sloshing. On impulse he raised his hand to wave, eyes wide as they waved back, smiles on gnarled faces.
Before long, he saw the Flower Boutique. A sick began to enter his gut, swallowing as he looked at the OPEN sign, off kilter and tilted a bit to the right. Once he opened the door, a greeting of Welcome! rang out. Stepping inside, there was a man with slicked-back black hair and a kind smile. “Hello, welcome to my shop. How may I help you this afternoon?”
Okuyasu took a second to glance around, scratching at his cheek.
There were so many flowers, so many he didn’t know. Pink. Orange. Wax looking or droopy. A specific kind looking like bells of some sort. The floors were decorated with fresh stained wood, warm and homey. All of the furniture was constructed from wood as well, square tables and rounded ones as well, at different heights, for different plants. There was a lot of natural light coming from the hugely-planed windows on the other side of the establishment. But plenty of light came from man-made fixtures too, washing everything white.
He cleared his throat, trying his best to fix on a smile. “I need some flowers for my aniki. He, uh. He passed an’ I wanna honor him. So I wanted to ask what’s best an’ all that ‘cause I’m kinda slow an’ wouldn’t know.”
A sadness entered the man’s eyes. “There are a lot of flowers that would do the job. I know you said that you wouldn’t know, but would you happen to have a preference? Or something that reminded you of your brother in some fashion or another?”
Okuyasu blinked. “He had yellow hair.”
He watched a smile etch onto the man’s face. “Perfect. Well, I have some yellow flowers that may do the trick. Accompanied by some blue foliage that would highlight them beautifully. So here’s some options: Marigolds, Begonias, Jessamines, Sunflowers, etc. Any of the names standing out for you?”
He had no idea what any of that meant. What. “Uh— No, not at all.”
“That’s okay. Let me show you, starting from the fixture in the middle.”
He just nodded, following the man around the shop. He soon learned that his name was Yukio. Yukio had him touch the flowers, even smell them. Even ones that weren’t yellow. Laughing a little as he grimaced around heavy smelling variations. Before long, he began to lose count of all of the flowers and their differences, all of them meshing into a fast, yellow, multi-colored haze. When they finished he just decided on a couple bouquets, trusting the man and his expertise with a sense of hazy bewilderment.
As he sat on a wooden stool, watching Yukio arrange the two bouquets he wasn’t expecting a question. “So….Okuyasu-san, I have a question. This is a little personal so you do not have to answer if you don’t want to. I want to make that very clear.”
Okuyasu just shrugged, straightening from his usual slouch.
“What was your brother's secondary gender?”
His eyebrows squished together. “I dun’ really know. I mean, he told me an’ stuff a long time ago. But we never talked about that too much, he didn’t bring it up much or nothin’. Somethin’ about the whole thing was touchy for him. I think he was a Beta though. Why?”
Yukio placed a ribbon between his teeth. Taking it out soon after, to wrap around one of the nearly finished bouquets. “I usually ask all of my customers this because there’s a tendency that exists in scents that certain people gravitate towards. It may be biological? Maybe something having to do with nurture moreso, I don’t exactly know. But I tested this out with you. You may not have noticed, but I saw you lingering around sweeter smelling flowers. Especially ones that are known to have calming effects about them. It made me think that your brother tended, or wanted to keep you safe to a certain degree. Omega’s tend to prefer those smells. Not all, but well— just based on self-indulgent observation.”
He just stared. “Uh— ”
“I know this is a lot,” Yukio replied, fixing him with a serious stare. “But it’s clear to me that you haven’t thought about this too much. It doesn’t sound or seem like this is your fault, but you look like a teenager. A lot happens at this time. This isn’t my place but I do wanna offer some insight, if helpful. Now, I’ll be finished in a few minutes. How will you be paying?”
“Y-Yen.” He thought about it for a second. “That’s okay right?”
Yukio reached out to place a hand over his. “Of course.”
Before long, he was reaching into his wallet, pulling out some money and paying for both bouquets, a weird, unidentifiable feeling washing over him.
After Yukio processed the order, he handed Okuyasu the receipt with a smile, closing the register. Once Okuyasu tucked that into his pant pocket, glancing up soon after, Yukio handed over both bouquets. Okuyasu did his best to grab them with relative ease, holding them carefully in his grasp. He felt like he was supposed to say something but he didn’t know what to say, so he did his best to wave, one of the bouquets swaying.
“Thanks for coming in Okuyasu-san.” Yukio gracefully walked him to the door. Holding it open for him, a breeze entering calm and sweet on his skin. “I never said this, but my condolences to you about your brother. It’s hard losing people you love. Have a safe journey, wherever you’re going. And know, that you are always welcome to come back.”
Okuyasu garbled something out he didn’t quite understand himself and walked out, pausing for a second. Before his face contorted, skipping into a jog, hoping he had enough change for the bus fare.
They did a beautiful job, he thought.
Keicho was buried in Kunimi Peak Cemetery, west of Morioh City.
Not too far out, but far out enough.
He began to clean off the headstone with a drenched sponge. Right after, he set the wooden tub and its accompanied ladle on the ground with shaky hands. He had purchased and brought some snacks that Keicho had loved, sparing just enough money to buy incense from the local temple alongside the cleaning supplies; placing those and the flowers on designated vase areas of the gravesite.
After he ladled out some water, he bowed his head, hands clasped. He tried to think of something, anything to say. But he couldn't. So he opened his eyes, tracing the carved words of his brother with a throbbing ache. He had tried to brush it off. Think of other things. But it was unavoidable now, closing his throat, burning his eyes. Blurring his vision as tears tracked his face, sniffing and gurgling all the while.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, just looking. Staring.
But eventually, his tears stopped. Mucous dried. The sky wasn’t as blue as before. And he actually shivered, rubbing his arms for comfort and heat. The flowers he had set down were swaying in the frigid wind and he found comfort in them. How the yellow stood out amongst all the gray. Their lingering scent made him smile, a ghost of one. But a smile nonetheless.
Ringing the doorbell was the easy part.
Witnessing Higashikata Josuke open the door, shock and a grimace on his face was another story. He still smelled the same: like musk and vanilla, masculine and sweet. Safe.
Somehow Okuyasu was invited inside, Josuke’s mother being the one to do so.
He was grinning all the while, looking over the interior of the house and trying to be subtle. The walls were a pale beige, leading into the kitchen. There were some picture frames. Potted plants. It was clean. Warm. He had poked his head into one of the hallways, surprised about all of the yellow.
As he sat down at the kitchen table, ignoring a violet-blue glare on his back as Josuke walked out to finish getting ready, Josuke’s mother set out some coffee for him. He watched as she opened the door of the fridge, glancing back at him. “Do you like cream and sugar in your coffee? Or do you prefer it black?”
He scratched at his cheek, smile a bit strained. “Uh— I’ve never really had coffee before Higashikata-san.”
“Tomoko-san is fine Okuyasu.” She didn’t react in any kind of way, just studying him as he shifted in his chair at the table, before turning back to her fridge and humming to herself all the while. “So, cream and sugar it is. I don’t know why, but something tells me you would like that.”
Okuyasu thought about it for a second. “I s’pose so. I like sweet things. Can’t start my day without ‘em sometimes.”
He could see a hint of a smile from where he was seated, eyes crinkled at the side. Something relaxed within him, something important, at the sight. “Me too. I have a weakness for custard buns from Kamakura Custar. Snacks, really. Sweet ones especially. Can’t go a day without them either.”
As she took out some cream from the top shelf, setting it on the table in front of him she began to make some small talk: Where do you live Okuyasu? Across the street. I see. Any family? He squirmed at that, staring at the table. M-My Dad. He knew she noticed and waited for further questioning— something that didn’t happen.
At first he was stiff and surprised, confused as he began to pour maybe a bit too much cream into the coffee.
Tomoko sneaked up behind him and dropped a couple sugar cubes into his mug, telling him to stir as the cream cooled down the coffee. He murmured a soft hai, picking up the spoon and stirring until he felt the sugar dissolve. Once he raised the mug to his lips, taking a generous sip, his eyes widened, glee spreading over his face. As he jubilantly exclaimed how good it was she laughed, finally sitting across from him. She cradled her cheek in her palm, face fond. “Now we know what to do next time you’re over.”
He didn’t know how to answer that instead, drinking more coffee. Tomoko began to ask some more questions and he answered them best he could, the air between them fairly comfortable. Just as he was about to take another generous sip, Josuke ran into the kitchen, sounding a little out of breath. His eyes were wide on them, before they settled on Okuyasu, narrowing ever so slightly.
“Mom,” Josuke greeted, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Okuyasu and I are gonna be late, we gotta go.”
“Okay. Josuke, don’t forget that I made you— ”
“Lunch. Yeah I know,” Josuke finished, cringing visibly as she afforded him a glare. His eyes became huge. “Wrong tone. Right, sorry Mom. Let’s go Okuyasu.”
Okuyasu didn’t question it, standing up from the chair and fiddling with the half-empty porcelain mug in his hands. Tomoko stood up shortly after, walking over to grab it from him, patting his hand at the same time. He could feel Josuke’s eyes on them, on him too and something began to poke at him, cheeks becoming a bit warm.
“Don’t worry Okuyasu, I’ll take care of that. Have a good day at school boys.”
Josuke rushed towards the fridge right after she finished talking, crouching down to grab his homemade bento. Before long he was outside, Okuyasu trailing after him.
As Okuyasu closed the front door, he spun around and saw Josuke staring at him, school bag slung over his shoulder. Okuyasu stared back, watching as Josuke pivoted, walking towards school with a little whistle. Okuyasu scrambled right up to him, unnerved by the continual whistling and casual walk. Any kind of talking would be nice. But Josuke didn’t seem to be budging. And his brain wasn’t working like usual, spinning too fast for words.
So he forced himself to focus on what was around him. The streets were clean, well kept. It felt like déjà vu as he kicked at a stray pebble, rolling to hit the sidewalk. Other school kids were walking past them, talking or silent all the while. Some were ahead. Some behind. He could tell that a couple of them were from Budo-ga Oka Middle School. Whispers and giggles and different colored uniforms helped to sketch the picture, a clear rush and weight, but one of a different pace.
“Hey man, did you hear me?” Okuyasu blinked, just now noticing how the whistling stopped. Josuke was staring at him in that way he did, a concerned glint to his violet-blue eyes as he stopped his walk.
“No, what’d ya say again?”
“What class are you in again?”
Okuyasu wracked his brain. Shit. It’s been busy as hell. “I….dunno. I forgot.”
Josuke just shrugged, starting his walk again. So Okuyasu did too, looking over at him. “No big deal man, I can take you to the Counseling Center— someone should be able to help you. Who cares if we’re a little late.”
Okuyasu blinked. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Their conversation turned into silence, but it wasn’t bad. Like the kind of silence after a real bad argument; akin to a fresh sting or burn.
Rather, it was similar to the silence of early morning. Where everything was quiet, still. But better then quiet. Because quiet was masking things. There was still a thrum underneath it. But this, this sense of peace. It was different. And the sun rose to meet it, warmth washed all over. A glow fanning over everything, something poking at him. Similar to the sensations poking at him before.
He looked around him again, then sighed.
Josuke looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Something wrong?”
Okuyasu sighed again, shaking his head too. “Yeah bro, everything’s wrong. Your mom made the best coffee ever but I always eat sweet things for breakfast. An’ I like….really want ice-cream. My favorite flavor is choco-strawberry an’ I saw this ice cream place somewhere around here the other day so now I want it. It’s callin’ to me or some shit, I just know it.”
When he looked over at Josuke he saw a huge grin on his face, eyes gleaming like jewels. “Man, I gotta show you this ice cream joint I go to when I get my allowance next week. It’s called Ice Cream Rainbow, probably the one you’re talking about. I like eating ice cream in the morning too. Literally, it's the best. Mom always says it’s bad for my health and yadda yadda yadda but it’s ice cream! Who cares?”
He grinned back. Now this was some good shit. “Exactly! Is tomorrow good?”
“Totally bro!”
“Is it cheap?”
“For sure! And they’re used to seeing me so I can try to squeeze a discount or something out of them when we go. They have real good deals on Monday mornings. Solid shit, for real.”
Okuyasu felt tears coming. And soon, it was all coming out; watery and mucousy and all the ugliness of a true, honest cry. This guy has my respect. I’ve hit the jackpot! “I-I’m so happy I could cry man. I mean— ”
“Hey,” Josuke laughed, but it wasn’t mean. They both stopped walking as he searched through his school bag for something. That something turned out to be a handkerchief. Okuyasu watched as Josuke made sure that it was folded into a neat, small square. The ends were lined with off-white, worn out lace. “Here. It’s just ice cream, what’s the crying for?”
Okuyasu accepted it, fingers brushing. As he wiped his eyes he muttered out a hoarse Thanks, another laugh answered him.
They eventually resumed their walk, Josuke taking up his whistling for a few more minutes. He had stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized pants, ever so slightly crouched.
As they reached a closer proximity to Budo-ga Oka Middle & High School, a few school girls began to greet them with Hi JoJo!, Ohayō JoJo! and Okuyasu watched Josuke’s cheeks steadily turn more and more pink. He’d mutter some kind of greeting back and the girls would giggle, backing off a bit. As this continued, different girls every single time, Josuke became more and more tense. Okuyasu certainly wasn’t expecting a strong grip on his arm, pace quickening as Josuke hurried them along. After a few seconds Josuke glanced back, suddenly breathing out and letting him go.
“Sorry man, I just….sometimes I’m just not in the mood,” Josuke explained, peeking a glance at him and rubbing a hand behind his neck.
Okuyasu just nodded, mind on the strong grip that used to be on his arm. Huh. “ ‘s all good.”
“Good.” Josuke looked visibly relieved now, shoulders back to their slouch. He began to look around, surveying all of the students around them. “I thought I’d see or hear Koichi by now. I think he’s running late or something.”
Something like worry began to gnaw at Okuyasu. “Should we hurry up an’ try to find him?”
He watched Josuke give him a look, that measured one from before. Soon, an easygoing smile flitted on plump lips, gaze softening. An arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him tight and close. And there he was, all musk and vanilla, masculine and sweet. Safe. Something in him relaxed, fitting into his side. “Nah man, he’ll show up eventually.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“Yeah besides….I like taking my time sometimes y’know?”
Huh. He understood that all too well.