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Himekawa’s 19th Birthday was everything you could expect from the walking trust fund… and more. Contrary to his constant complaints of being in the presence of his classmates, it was clear he had put a considerable effort (and sum of money) to make the event something special.
They’d all been invited to one of his many penthouses, but even so, it was clear this was definitely more upper end (unless it was normal for three chandeliers to be hanging from the ridiculously high ceiling).
Despite graduating last year Furuichi was quite sure (almost definite) that none of the third years actually moved on to tertiary education. Which didn’t really come as a surprise, in fact it was rather uncommon for students of Ishiyama high to attend university.
Natsume took his position beside Himekawa in the business of corporate backstabbing, and Takeshi unsurprisingly followed Kanzaki into the yakuza life.
Life as a second year was surprisingly lonely without the third years, or rather the ex-third years as the Red Tails were now officially top dog.
Also unsurprisingly was the lack of competition they received from the new first years. Sure, a couple of first years fancied themselves deserving enough to make their own stance, and they may have formed what could be considered a fairly decent mob for most schools… however Ishiyama is anything but ordinary.
The Red Tails quickly quelled any threatening movements from the newcomers. Nothing close to the Touhoushinki had formed since the departure of the third years.
Oh jeez, here he was, getting sentimental as fuck again (even though he was 17 only fucking 17- what had he done in his life, which wrong turn was it that made him feel as though those digits were reversed?!).
Alcohol, Furuichi had decided early on, was an extremely bad idea… at all times. He came to such a conclusive decision last year, hurling the contents of his stomach for that week (which wasn’t much) into a disgustingly putrid public toilet, on an equally unsanitary floor feeling nothing but self-hatred and a perverse sort of satisfaction at knowing he was experiencing everything he deserved.
Oga was taking another training camp in the mountains, or was it the demon world? Perhaps a mountain range within the demon world… ah yes that was equally as likely.
He was totally fine, ok maybe a little dangerously tipsy, before sculling that cup of vodka… ohh bad idea that was.
Nobody mentioned the lack of his presence (well… not like he was there to actually determine such a fact, but the lack of text messages seemed to imply that much), and so he made the shaky trek back home resenting the new year’s fireworks with a vengeance for making such a loud noise.
And so, here he was again, an obligatory guest, sitting in the corner trying to get as smashed as possible, as quickly as possible (hey, he knew alcohol was a bad idea, that in noo way stopped him from indulging in the self-destructive behaviour when he felt like he had nothing more to lose).
Creep-ichi, lolicon, pervert, Mob-ichi oh oh, and don’t forget the newly added trash. The words weren’t thrown around as much as they used to after that day. But it didn’t stop completely, and hey-
‘It’s a joke, a joke. We’re not being serious, it’s all in jest.’
-Of course it’s light hearted humour taken at his expense. And seriously what else can he do but laugh when they do make a comment.
No joke that ever made anybody laugh didn’t have an underlying truth. That’s what a joke was, a slip of the conscience, something too rude or politically incorrect to confront at face value… so people laugh it off.
To be honest, Furuichi wasn’t quite sure when he started hating his personality. At some point he no longer had the ability to keep the impressions of others at bay when he felt the slightest arousal. He never did bother buying another erotic magazine after Baby Beel trashed his room. It was a pretty hectic time, and the added unwanted presence of Alaindelon was enough for any straight guy to be creeped out of jerking off.
Point aside, on the rare occasion he finally did feel the need for release summoning up the usual images of bikini clad women and other skimpy clothes worked well enough. But the overwhelming shame that undeniably followed (this was what everyone laughed about, and resented him for, wasn’t it? Jerking off to some chick with big boobs presenting herself suggestively).
Disgusting.
It was enough of an incentive to put off or ignore the rest of his morning woods, until they settled down themselves.
Three Beers in and Fushimi was well and truly feeling the buzz. He was sitting on the far edge of the table (on the opposite end of the girls—“omg imagine creep-ichi when he’s drunk? Haha, he already pretty much does everything a closet pervert does sober”)
- haha, he laughed and went along yet again
–cause hey. He didn’t have feelings it was a joke he knew that. And it wasn’t like he’d do anything beyond what he did when he was sober (hell he probably did more than he actually wanted to, because it was kinda expected of him, and he wasn’t sure what they’d say if he stopped complimenting them.) It was probably a little presumptuous to actually think that they would notice the lack of his comments… but a small part of him hoped more than anything that they would say something. Even if that were the truth it’s not like he wanted to kick up a fuss and he was a little scared to see how insignificant he was to everyone if no one noted the change…
Furuichi knew how to pace the evening. How to laugh, and joke around a little when he was still sober enough. To only drink beer or something under 7% alcohol for the first hour or so, or pretty much until the rest of the group was drunk enough to pass off his subdued behaviour as being a sleepy drunk.
The only problem was, the entire group were such muscle heads it took twice as much alcohol for them to get themselves were he was after a drink. Being a lightweight wasn’t too bad of a deal, just take it slower while waiting for your friends to catch up and spend less money on alcohol when you actually came to sculling.
Anyways. The music was getting a little more bearable, his classmate’s laughs weren’t quite as harsh or grating as they were at the start, and those who did get Asian flush were a pleasant shade of red. Surprisingly Furuichi wasn’t cursed with the allergy, despite his pale complexion. It would’ve made the first hour of pretending to be as drunk as the rest a little more difficult.
Takeshi had taken to his usual drunken dance on a table top and Nene’s customary pledge of her love towards Kunieda and how it was so heartbreaking her baby was growing up.
Yes, well and truly time to hit the harder stuff.
Furuichi knew how this worked. After a couple of beers, spirits went down like water.
…
Alcohol doesn’t change a person per say… more reveals their underlying emotions. A happy drunk is normally resultant of someone having a good time, adrenalin wiring up with the depressant into some kind of hormonal concoction. An angry drunk probably didn’t switch moods just because there was a little extra ethanol in their system.
And a sad drunk… well if Furuichi’s theory was right (which made perfect sense to him, but then again, one can be quite biased towards one’s own thought processes) was simply a result of the alcohol taking away the willpower to pretend to be happier.
…
Furuichi groaned painfully, regretting his life choices once more. It was all fine and dandy throwing caution to the wind and consuming a large quantity of alcohol against his better judgment (in spite of his better judgment, how pathetic was that? Proving to himself what an idiot he was? (not like he needed help in that respect)).
He felt like crying.
A sharp steady knock jolted him out of his self-loathing.
“Furuichi? You in there?” came a calm voice.
“Sorry, toilet’s full use another one.” Moaned Furuichi in reply, honestly Himekawa’s suite was large enough and he was certain there was at least one cubicle free.
“Do you need some help? Or some water, I can-”
“Urgh, just do us all a favour and fuck off.” Spat Furuichi, feeling the beginnings of guilt, which was easily supressed by the sudden wave of aggression (no doubt he’d be kicking himself a few seconds later).
The silence that followed wasn’t helping.
“What did I just say? Fuck-the hell-off.” He spat still high on impatience and frustration.
The footsteps growing softer were less of a comfort. He was being abandoned… but was it really abandonment when no one really cared in the first place?
Fuck.
Fuck, he hated this self-loathing.
He hated how fucking shitty it made him fell every time.
He hated how the tears kept of falling without his control. Or how he couldn’t find it in himself to change that.
Curled into a ball he cried hard into his knees. Fucking pathetic.
A cool hand was placed on the back of his neck.
In a panic he jolted back into the tiled wall, fuck that was going to bruise tomorrow, but for the present he was too panicked to care about his head.
Natsume squatted before him, hand awkwardly outstretched from where Furuichi flinched away. His expression was a peculiar mixture of surprise, sadness, and fucking pity. Furuichi quickly hid his face back behind his knees. It was too painful.
“How did you get in?” he mumbled through tear sodden jeans.
“Picked the lock, did you want some water?” asked Natsume, still as composed as ever.
“Fucking creep.” Spat Furuichi, unsure if that was meant for the man in front of him, or a general comment on himself.
“Did you want me to call Oga?” he asked quietly, a slight murmur above the steady beats of music from outside the restroom.
“How would that help?” laughed Furuichi in reply, slightly shocked at the coldness in his own words. He was being unfair, he knew, it wasn’t like Oga was the type of guy who would come at beck and call of his friends for anything other than a physical fight, and even if he were feeling generous he was hardly going to make a trip back from the mountains or demon world or wherever he was training again. “How would that fucking help me?” he choked.
Fuck, he was crying again. Taking large gulps of air, trying to hold back his tears by holding his breath, bursting it out in a choke. Rinse, repeat.
“What am I doing at this school?” he managed to breathe out between chokes. “I-I can’t fight, I’m not a fucking strategist, I’m just the fucking village-perving-paedophilic- idiot which everyone probably wouldn’t miss, if not for being the emotional scape goat.”
Furuichi felt a sudden warmth, as arms enclosed his shaking body.
Fuck, it’s been years since he’d gotten a real hug. Not the awkward embraces from Alaindelin or side hugs Oga occasionally indulged in.
“Nobody, thinks of you like that Furuichi. We all respect you.” Murmured Natsume, pressing a kiss onto Furuichi’s forehead.
He was momentarily shocked frozen.
“I know everyone here would be comforting you the exact same way, if they weren’t all so drunk. Please don’t ever think you’re worthless.”
Furuichi cried harder than ever.