〚 IN THE DAYS OF THUNDER 〛
『 your love for your boyfriend runs deep - there's no question about that. and his love and devotion for you runs deeper than you'll ever know. so he doesn't protest or argue when you ask him to run away with you. 』
on the air :: kazutora x fem!reader
any warnings? :: sfw, angst, LOTS of angst, teen runaways, stealing, family issues, mentions of verbal and mental abuse, mentions of underage drinking, light swearing, kazutora's such a sweetie
host's final input :: heyyy... i've wanted to get this out for a while. this is very personal for me but i thought it'd be nice to write this out anyway. is this heavily selfship coded? absolutely but idgaf. but i hope you guys enjoy it anyway. @ljubimaya & tora nation, how we feeling?
word count:: 13.06k :: playlist ─ ♡
“Tora?”
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think about running away?”
Of all things for you to ask him right now, he wasn’t expecting… well, that. Your question was sudden and had caught Kazutora by surprise, golden pools of honey widening from the unexpected query.
“Huh?” was all he could muster.
“Running away. From here. Ever thought about it?”
“No” would probably be the answer he’d give you since it spoke the most truth, however, he could see it wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear, even if it was the one he wanted to give.
You were laying next to him on your bed, his head snug into the plush pillows while yours laid against his chest, listening to the soft thump thump of his heart. The sun was dipping on the horizon, day settling into night with rays of orange like liquid rust creeping through the blinds of your window, music drumming quietly on your radio, drowning out the sound of distant and muffled arguing coming from downstairs. Another heated fight between your parents that broke through the peaceful ambience of your quiet afternoon with your boyfriend. If you were thinking about running away, then he knew exactly why. The distant, bitter shouts were enough to make even a stranger understand your plight.
“Where’s this coming from?” he questioned, obvious confusion in his tone, his amber eyes flitting down to gauge your reaction, trying to ignore the shouts that increased in volume from down below.
You took a second to respond, thinking of the easiest way to phrase what you were about to say. But how do you calmly tell your boyfriend of only a year, who was scratching his head in puzzlement, that you wanted to leave town and never return? Well, you don’t - you have to rip the bandaid off.
“I’m tired of living here, Tora. I hate it. Hate my parents, hate their rules. Just… hate this damn life. It’s suffocating,” you explain, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked with genuine concern. Easing yourself slowly on your side, you tipped your head to shoot him a look of “really?”, your brow cocked.
He shot a hand up defensively, placing his other hand on your head, leading you to lay back down against the toned muscles of his chest, your favorite spot to rest on.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I get it, though. I hate living at home too, but we can’t exactly go anywhere.”
“You think so?”
It was his turn to question you, cocking an eyebrow at you as he shot you his own look of “are you serious?” You shrugged. “It’s not like we can’t.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “And where are we supposed to go?”
“Anywhere. Just far from here, far from this hellhole.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How do we even get outta here?”
“There’s a bus station that runs all night about 20 minutes south of here.”
He snaps his head up, staring at you with knitted brows and slight admiration, if you could call it that. “Guess you’ve thought this through, huh? Are you really serious about this?”
You shrugged again. You could hear the trepidation in his voice, He had every right to be wary, after all. The two of you were only high school students. Graduation was still far away though not inevitable. But another two or three years stuck at home just did not sound appealing, not with the way your parents argued like they were facing off in a great debate.
However, there was nothing to your name; you had no job, no money and all Kazutora had was his beloved bike to drive you out as far as it can go to relieve you of the home life you dreaded having.
“Maybe. I dunno. It wouldn’t hurt to try. I just wanna get outta here,” you reasoned, your voice edged with shakiness.
“You’re… talking about running away.”
“Yeah.”
“And we’d just leave…? Just like that?”
“Yeah.”
Kazutora became quiet, laying his head back against the pillow as he pondered the idea you were presenting to him, trying to make sense of the situation.
But as the sound of your parents arguing downstairs grew louder and harsher, most likely indicating their migration upstairs to yell at you for whatever reason they could come up with, the answer became clearer to him, sighing in frustration.
The floor shook as heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs, coming down the hall towards your bedroom, shouts and yells from your parents reverberating off the narrow walls, echoing into your bedroom through the closed door. You tensed up as the doorknob began to jiggle before the lock you diligently remembered to switch on forced them out. Wrapping an arm around your shaking form, Kazutora squeezed your body close to his, eyes fixated on the stammering door, waiting for it to ram open any second now.
The jiggling of the handle was soon followed by loud banging of your father’s fists against the door, rattling the wooden latch on its hinges, threatening to break off if your father added more force.
Your pain, your fears, your anger and sadness - he felt all of them in that moment, in just those few seconds as the world stood still. Images of his own father flashed through his head as he heard yours on the other side of your safe haven, knowing all too well what it’s like to live with an angry man in your home. He dug his nose into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent in an attempt to ground him to reality, taking a shaky breath before he whispered to you.
“When are we leaving?”
His question caught you by surprise this time. Suddenly, your roles were reversed as you looked up at him confused, looking straight into his bright eyes, those caramel candied orbs that carried a million emotions inside. There was a newfound conviction in them, an urgency, a need to keep you safe and free from the violent home life you lived.
The pounding on the rickety door only increased in speed and determination as your father shouted obscenities on the other side, demanding you to “open up and let them in”. But his and your mother’s demands fell on deaf ears as you stared back at your loving boyfriend, the only person who truly cared about you. At that moment, everything became clear enough to understand. There was no other option, no other way out, at least not in your mind. He was your life. Only he mattered now.
“Tomorrow night. 10:30.” That was the plan. There was no going back. It was time to leave.
➽───────────────❥
10:33pm. Kazutora was on his way, though running just a few minutes behind schedule. You sat anxiously on your plush bed, fiddling with your fingers in your lap as you anticipated your boyfriend's arrival.
That familiar sense of unease sprinted through your body as the seconds ticked by, stealing glances out your window hoping to see that dark and golden haired boy you fell so hard for.
The thoughts of his absence circled your head - why wasn’t he here yet? You were ready to make haste and flee but you couldn't just yet, not without Kazutora.
Sitting had done nothing but make you more anxious, opting to pace quietly around your room, waiting for the roar of his engine, a chime from your phone, even a rock at the window, yet nothing came.
“What’s taking you so long, Tora?” you muttered to yourself.
10:45, 15 minutes behind schedule. You pressed your hand to your forehead, frustration overcoming you from the lack of confirmation of his whereabouts and location. Pacing around was now only heightening your pent-up anxiousness and it only worsened when you accidentally kicked your foot on your suitcase, knocking it over with a loud thud as you cursed openly, bending down to readjust your suitcase against the bed.
You mentally cursed yourself for being too worked up. Your parents were sleeping soundly in their bedroom down the hall, and though your door had been shut to block out any other sound to their tired ears, you were sure the loud thud and the sound of your curse was enough to jolt them out of their sleep.
Yet, nothing came in the painfully slow minutes that passed by, worriedly expecting your parents to barge into your room, demanding what that noise was and why you were still awake at such a late hour.
You reluctantly sat yourself back onto your bed, the mattress dipping with the weight of your body at the edge.
Glancing back down at your phone, hoping to see a new message from your boyfriend pop up, you thought back to the events that led up to this moment, this significant juncture that'll be etched into your history, a memory you’ll be able to share with your children. Well, if you and Kazutora decide to even have kids in the future that is.
You knew running away from home to start anew with the boy you’d fallen in love with was going to be a challenge, but you were prepared to put everything on the line to make the dream a reality, at least that’s what you told yourself. There was more to this life the world had to offer, but under the strict rule of your parent’s household, you found yourself unable to pursue the goals you set out for your future.
In a strange way, this would be the first goal you set for yourself you’d be able to successfully achieve. Sure, it was a rather depressing achievement, but it was all you could muster. Life with your parents has become suffocating. It was unbearable to live with them any longer, drowning in their unfair treatment of you and their unreasonable expectations for your future.
You sighed, tossing your phone to the side, making sure to leave it on sound, silently praying you’ll hear from Kazutora soon.
You scanned your room, eyes lingering on small trinkets and unmistakable remnants of your childhood, belongings you’ll be leaving behind, memories that will always be yours but out of your grasp until you can reclaim them again - whenever that’ll be. Your heart grew heavy with guilt, an emotional tidal wave sweeping over you as you pondered over your plan for the nth time that night. Was this really all worth leaving behind? Could you easily give this up? This was the only home you ever knew after all. Were you prepared to leave everything behind?
You shook your head, trying to shake out any uncooperative thoughts, telling your brain to stop second guessing your finalized decision.
Another 15 minutes slipped by and still no sign of Kazutora. You debated in your head if you should call him or not, but there was no need. Your phone dinged - a message from your boyfriend. The notification stirred you from your thoughts, reaching back for your discarded phone, fumbling with the lock on your screen to read his message.
sorry i’m runnin late. be there in 10 minutes <3
That’s all the message read. You sighed, your thumbs working swiftly to type out a quick response. It was 11pm already.
our bus leaves at 12 yknow
i know. im sorry :(
A shot of guilt hit your soft heart. He didn’t need to be sorry. The buses ran all night, but they needed to manage whatever little pocket money they had for their next trip and whatever expenses they needed to cover as they built their new life.
dont apologize im not mad :)
Another message popped up almost immediately after your recent text.
make it 5 minutes. be ready <3
You were ready, had been for the past hour. The anxiety that sprinted through your veins neglected to part when you packed your suitcase. Your thoughts were running like an Olympic sprinter, leaving you unable to just sit down in peace, not until you were sure you’d be free from this hellhole.
Knowing he’d be arriving in just minutes, you slid off your bed, bending back down to grasp the handle of your large suitcase, hauling its heavy weight in your arms as you gave your room another once over. You double checked your small list of essentials: clothes and another set of shoes all encased in your roll away, phone and charger tucked into your pockets, the key to your house and spare cash. Cash - the one piece in your possessions that hadn’t actually belonged to you.
A spiteful fight with your parents the night before, shortly after Kazutora departed from your home, prompted you to retrieve the loose cash your father had stashed away in a small safe behind the desk in his study. Ever since you entered high school, when you were in search of freedom and self-identification, your parents became your worst enemies, belittling you for every small decision, disregarding your feelings when you begged to be seen by them. Your desperate pleas of approval fell on deaf ears, or rather ears that refused to listen to reason. They were always in utter disbelief that you were no longer the impressionable child they had grown accustomed to molding to fit their standards in your youth.
You weren’t a child anymore, but not quite an adult yet, leading your unfit-to-be parents to believe you were not capable of making your own decisions, feeling the need to instruct you at every pass to what they believed was right, even if they were clearly in the wrong. By your third year of high school, you had reached a boiling point, fighting to almost no end with your mother, or father, or sometimes both, all at once. And the night before had been no different, except they had the audacity to throw your relationship in your face.
The image of your father’s reddened face resurfaced, the carved look of disdain as you retaliated against his judgment burned into your memories. Despite the countless screaming matches you found yourself in with your so-called father, you had never seen him look so… disappointed, as if he were ashamed to call you his daughter.
Shortly after your parents fell asleep, you snuck into your father’s study, popping the back panel small safe off with a flat head screwdriver. The money sat on the first shelf of the safe - two stacks of cash estimating a little over $800 sat delicately dead center. It would be the first thing your eyes would fall upon had you opened the safe from the front.
The money was yours for the taking. $800 wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the repercussions you experienced from your parents’ verbal and mental abuse. Hell, it was barely enough to get you and Kazutora out of town and maybe even a few nights at a cheap motel.
5 minutes went by slower than you expected but the sound of a pebble hitting your window brought you out of stupor, your neck twisting to locate where the sound came from. You set your suitcase back down on the carpet, trotting towards the glass frame to confirm your suspicions.
And as you looked down at the grass below, a smile creeped across your lips. It was Kazutora, standing just below your window with an apologetic smile, most likely still feeling sorry for running late.
You were elated to see him though, holding your finger up to signal for him to give you a second to come downstairs. He nodded, stepping away from the side of your house to wait for your arrival.
This was the moment you had been dreading - you still needed to sneak past your parents’ room. The hallways were noisy, and the stairs creaked with every bit of weight shifted on its surface. You were never able to successfully sneak in and out of your house through the front without getting caught in the middle of your act. There was even the one time you carelessly snuck Kazutora in, only to get caught walking past their bedroom due to the floorboards crackling as Kazutora tried to tip toe down the hallway.
You said a silent prayer as you picked up your suitcase once more, walking towards the door of your room before turning back. With a heavy heart, you took one last glance at the band posters hung up on your walls, your large vanity adorned with polaroid pictures and necklaces, your queen-sized bed that you and Kazutora spent many nights in, and your neat array of plushies all staring at you, twisting the knob in your hand. Several of the plush animals had been gifted to you by friends and family over the years and it tore up your heart to leave them behind, their beaded eyes gazing at you, as if trying to tell you telepathically not to leave.
You turned away, knowing if you looked any longer, you’d change your mind. You couldn’t. There was no way you could change your mind about running away now. It was now or never and you’d rather it be now than never.
Pulling the wooden door open, you stuck your head between the open crack, making sure the coast was clear before inching a foot outside of the bedroom. Clutching the handle of your suitcase tight in your palm, you made a few more tiny steps until you fully exited your room, keeping the steel handle twisted in your hand as you closed the door behind you.
You stood alone in the darkened hallway, no light illuminating your way as you quietly trudged through the narrow passageway. Within a few more inches, you reached the open entrance of your parents’ bedroom, the faint, soft sounds of your mother’s breathing followed by the loud snoring erupting from your father resonating past the open door. You poked your head around the door to see two bodies wrapped in sheets, the rise and fall of their chests with each breath and closed eyes indicating their deep slumber.
Sighing a breath of relief at the sight of your sleeping parents, you pressed forward, eyes focused on the trail in front of you, wary of every creaking spot in the floorboards. You carefully stepped around areas that made the floor cry out like they were in pain until you reached the top of the stairs, turning your head back once more to ensure your cover hadn’t been blown just yet.
With no angry parent in view and only the sounds of snoring still lingering in the air, you descended the stairs, taking the same precaution with each step until your feet landed at the bottom. The entire process of getting to the door from your bedroom seemed like hours, the way your heart thudded in your chest out of fear of being caught and dragged back into your bedroom.
“Never again,” you thought. No turning back.
Your hands were drenched with unease as you walked towards the front door, pulling out your copy of the house key from your pocket. Sure, you hated your parents, but the thought of leaving them in an unlocked house didn’t sit right with you, despite all the pain they forced on you. You weren’t like them, though.
Switching the lock off, you silently pull the front door open, the old door prying open with a shout that made you cringe, hoping your father’s sonar hearing didn’t just capture the sounds of your escape. Luckily, and to your surprise, no heavy footsteps came down the stairs, no shouts emerged from their bedroom - just silence.
A part of you almost wanted them to come down and scream some sense into you; to tell you that you were living a foolish dream that would never pan out and you were being childish and unreasonable. But the bigger part of your brain, the part that was fed up with the bullshit and unfair restrictions of your life, knew no happiness could be found in the place you once called “home”. Kazutora was your only home, and he was on the other side, patiently waiting for you to finally join him so you could be free of the lives you were living.
So, without another second to waste, and with no more regrets, you swung the door open fully, embracing the sight of your boyfriend standing at the end of the walkway that led up to the front door. And he saw you too, saw the emotions swirling inside your head that were now engraved on the features of your face. You shut the door behind you with a thud, tossing the key that was clutched tightly in your hand to the side, discarding it on the lawn to be forgotten.
You no longer cared if your parents stormed down the stairs with a huff in an attempt to stop you from leaving. In a way, you knew they wouldn’t. Perhaps when they woke up in the morning and realized you escaped in the middle of the night, they would not be disgruntled about it. Maybe, in this way, you were relieving them of their parental duties, a job they performed half assed. “Good riddance,” they might think upon seeing the empty bedroom where their daughter once slept and holed herself in in an attempt to be free of their incessant screaming.
It didn’t matter anymore, though. They didn’t matter, only he mattered - your boyfriend, who stood at the edge of the sidewalk with awaiting arms as you inched closer to him, tears pooling on your lash line as you set your suitcase on the ground, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace as you buried your face into his chest. He cooed, stroking your hair as tears of agony spilled down your cheeks, breathing heavily from the growing pain in your chest, the familiar shattering of your heart making you sob harder.
Kazutora tried his best to ease the tension in your body, rubbing his hands on your back in a soothing motion as he whispered in your ear, telling you “everything’ll be okay” and “you won’t be going back there anymore”. His voice was a cool balm on your broken heart, taking a step back to wipe away the tears that stained your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket. With his hand, he tipped your head back to make you look up at him before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.
You took a shaky breath as you slowly regained control of your dipping emotions. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to detect the turbulence in your heart, and Kazutora could sense the distress in the way your hands fisted his shirt, holding onto him like he was the savior you’d been waiting for. And he was exactly that - your hero, your savior.
After a few more tears and sniffles, you eased yourself off his chest, wiping away the tears from your eyes before he stopped you, taking your smaller hand into his. His other gentle hand delicately caressed your tear-stained cheek, wiping away the remnants of your breakdown with his thumb.
“It’s okay. I’m here now,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, much like his hand on your cheek. Leaning into the warmth of his hand, you closed your eyes, your heart still beating erratically like a drum in your chest.
“What took you so long,” you asked with a shakiness in your voice. “You were supposed to be here at 10:30. What happened?”
There was no malice in your tone or in the way you glanced up at his handsome face, but the way he rubbed the back of his head nervously made your heart ache. You were being too harsh on him. He was just as nervous and on edge as you were and the look of guilt riddled on his face made you realize there was a lot going on in his mind he wasn’t telling you, most likely in an attempt to make sure your emotional state was looked after. In his mind, you were more important. He could just focus on himself later.
“Sorry. I got… caught up in something.”
“Like what?”
“It’s nothing to worry about now. Let’s just get to the station, okay? Our bus will be leaving soon.”
That wasn’t good enough, though. You were desperate to press him for more information, but he was right. The bus was scheduled to depart at 12am and it was still about a 20 minute drive on his bike to the station, estimating your arrival around 11:30 or 11:40pm at the latest. Time was the one thing you didn’t have at the moment due to his tardiness. Plus, with the way you slammed the front door of your house, you knew eventually your father would come running down the stairs to see what the noise was and possibly even see you outside.
No, that couldn’t happen. You shook the thought from your head, looking up at your concerned boyfriend. “Yeah, let’s get going.”
Stepping around him, you expected to see his bike, but there was nothing. No Rocket in sight.
“Tora, where’s your bike?” You whipped your head side to side, hoping to see the bike somewhere down the road. Maybe he just parked it a little down the street. Turning back around to confront him, you immediately caught that same nervous look on his face - the same look he gave you when you caught him in your room by himself one time when you hadn’t invited him over. He avoided looking in your direction, feeling the weight of your stare and question on his shoulders already.
“I, uh, don’t have it.” he stammered.
“Huh? What do you mean?” “What does it sound like? I don’t have it.”
Frustrated, you smacked your palm to your forehead. “Yeah, I got that but ‘what happened to it’ is what I meant.”
He continued to avoid eye contact, prompting you to cradle his cheek in your hand, shifting his head so you could look up at him, staring into those warm pools of amber that held back a harsh confession he was reluctant to spill. But he knew he owed you an explanation. With bated breath, he spoke softly, almost inaudible, as if he were ashamed to admit it.
“I sold it.”
Your heart fell to your stomach at his confession, a gasp lodging in your throat as you dropped your hand to your side. His bike, his Rocket. He sold it?
“You sold it? Why? Why would you do that?” you angrily questioned him. You weren’t angry per se, but you were devastated. His bike was a part of who he was, a part of his identity. Kazutora’s owned that bike longer than you two had been dating and he spent much of his time taking care of his only mode of transportation. He desperately fought back the tears that threatened to spill as he reminisced on the dreadful transaction and the horrible walk back home he took from the bike shop he sold his beloved vehicle to. He could’ve easily given the bike to Shinichiro, but with their situation, Kazutora feared that Shinichiro would ask questions and perhaps even relay it to Mikey if he felt it was necessary to do so.
Neither you nor Kazutora wanted that. No one was supposed to know about their escape plan.
“We need the money. All the money we can get. I… can always work for another one later.”
The crack in his voice nearly broke you. Hell, if he started crying, you would probably cry with him. Tears began to pool on your lower lid, but Kazutora prevented you from letting those tears fall, tilting your head up with his hand on your chin.
“Don’t worry about it, okay? I got good money for it. Guess it really helps that I took care of her, huh?” he said with a humorless chuckle. But you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.
“But… you loved Rocket.”
He shakes his head, a half-hearted smile on his face, clearly trying to ease the tension running through you even if his own heart was breaking on the inside. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was in pain, more than he’ll show or tell you. That motorcycle, his Rocket, meant everything to him. But between keeping a bike he would never use anymore and giving it up in exchange for money to support the two of you, he’d rather have the latter.
“It’s okay,” he rasped. “It’s just a bike.”
Just a bike? Right. You wanted to protest but again, he didn’t let you. Let’s get going now.”
With the tug of your arm, Kazutora dragged you down the sidewalk, not saying another word about his sold motorcycle, passing by the quiet houses of the neighborhood, walking briskly into the night, your house becoming smaller in the background with each hurried step you took.
After a few more quiet steps, the sight of a different motorcycle came into view, causing you to cock an eyebrow. The set looked familiar until it hit you - Goki. It was Baji’s motorcycle. Kazutora whipped the keys from his pocket, guiding you to the borrowed bike. But you stopped in your tracks, shooting your boyfriend a questionable look. He stopped too, rubbing the back of his neck for the nth time.
“Baji let me borrow his bike to pick you up. He’s waiting for us at the station.” And as much as that answered the most obvious question, that wasn’t your main concern. Baji knew you two were leaving, the last person who needed to know about this.
“You told him about our plan? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I needed to get to you quick. Baji’s the only one I can trust with this,” he defended.
You sighed deeply. He was right, though. If anyone was going to find out before the others, it was going to be him. Apart from them being best friends, Baji had keen intuition and eventually, one way or another, he would’ve caught on. With Baji already being at the station, it made sense why Kazutora also didn’t have any of his belongings on hand. His best friend was most likely watching over them while he waited for them to arrive. You could already imagine the hard expression he usually wore on his rugged face. Time to mentally prepare yourself for a scolding or lecture or something.
Baji wasn’t exactly known for walking on eggshells or tiptoeing around people’s feelings especially when it came to speaking his mind about things he didn’t agree with. You knew he wouldn’t be okay with you and his best friend leaving town in the middle of the night without anyone else’s knowledge of the escape. But if anyone had to know, in a strange way, you were thankful it was him.
“I guess it’s fine if he knows. Is he mad?” “What do you think?”
Fair enough. He just confirmed what you were already thinking. “Great. I guess we have to prepare ourselves to get our asses chewed out then huh?” you huffed.
For the first time tonight, Kazutora smiled, a gentle tug of his lips at the idea of getting bitched out by his best friend, as if it hadn’t been done before on several occasions and tonight would be no different. You and Kazutora weren’t exactly the most normal couple out there, far from it and you often found yourselves at the receiving end of not only Baji’s scolding but also Draken’s. But their words of wisdom never stuck, not usually.
“Yeah. He’s gonna let me have it once we get there, for sure,” Kazutora chuckled, motioning for you to hop onto the back of Goki after him. You followed his motion, hooking the handle of your suitcase to the back of the bike before swinging your leg over, settling onto the hard seat, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend securely before he stuck the keys into the ignition, the roar of the bike coming to life ringing through silence of the quiet night.
Kicking the stand off the ground, Kazutora zoomed in a brisk U-turn, the tires rolling down the street into the dark of the night. You took one last look at your tiny house now fading in the distance, sighing a breath of relief. Freedom was nearly yours and Kazutora’s. All you needed to do now was to get to the station in time to catch your bus. Sure, the buses ran all night but the faster you could get out of town, the better.
The bright lights of the streetlamps whipped through your vision as Kazutora sped through the empty city streets, the breaking wind sweeping through your clothes, making you shiver and grip Kazutora tighter. He felt the constricting of your arms around him from the chilly breeze.
“We’re almost there,” he said reassuringly. There were still a few minutes left on your short journey. The station, 20 minutes away, was not a far drive, but the raging anxiety pumping through your veins made the trip seem long. Every few seconds, you lifted your head to check on Kazutora, his sole focus on the road ahead, expression unreadable but his body tense under the grasp of your arms around his waist. He was scared, afraid of the future to come, even afraid of facing his dark-haired best friend waiting for him to return with his bike.
The lit streets were empty, void of other cars due to the late hour, making it easier for Kazutora to weave through the lanes. The speed at which he drove in was determined, determined to get to the bus station on time. He didn’t speak throughout the trip there, hinting at the nervousness shooting through his veins, chills running down his spine from the cool air and their predicament. You rested your head on his back, suppressing the tears that gathered in your eyes again before looking over his shoulder again, taking a breath of relief when the station finally came into view.
The neon lights of the bus station’s sign caught your eye as the large buildings of the city began to thin out, making the blue light of the sign stand out like a star in the dead sky. Engines of the buses blared into the dead night as a handful of passengers boarded, stuffing their excess luggage into the under-bus storage compartment, tired expressions drawn into their features as they stepped into the heavy mobile crate, static announcements of bus departures calling out on the overhead speaker.
Kazutora slowed his speed before coming to a halt altogether in the station’s parking lot, shutting Baji’s bike off before kicking out the stand to steady them. He looked over his shoulder, waiting for you to hop off first and you obliged, planting one foot on the ground first before pulling your other leg over. Kazutora quickly followed suit, grabbing the keys from the ignition while you reached for your suitcase latched onto the back of the motorcycle.
With your suitcase in hand, Kazutora extended a hand out towards you, and you quickly reached out for him, lacing your fingers with his as you strode towards the entrance of the hub, your boots clicking against the hard pavement of the ground, echoing into the night air.
Kazutora opened the door for you, allowing you to step into the vacant station following close behind you. The station itself was nearly empty, safe for a few vagrant-looking individuals and some who looked like they were traveling farther out of town, bags and suitcases sitting on the seats, trash littering the tile floor of the waiting area. Kazutora tugged on your arm, guiding you towards the check-in counter. 11:37 - 23 minutes early but early enough to check in and take a breather before you depart to your new life. At least, like this, you’d be able to leave at the time you planned. The lady at the check-in counter wore large bags under her eyes, a huff in her breath as she lazily checked in you and your boyfriend and verified your passes. Dim lights flickered above with the quiet hum of the dying bulbs, the stale smell from humidity filling your nostrils, your nose scrunching in disgust.
Once you were checked in, Kazutora pulled you to the dingy chairs of the waiting room, gingerly sitting you down as he stood in front of you anxiously, taking your suitcase from your person to sit on the ground. He ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing softly when a brief cough caught his attention from behind.
He turned around and you couldn’t help but look over as well, your gaze falling on the sight of the man you weren’t mentally prepared to see tonight, Baji. From the look on his face, he wasn’t thrilled to be there. Even as they made a trade, with Kazutora throwing his keys back at him and Baji nudging a suitcase toward Kazutora, you could tell the dark-haired boy dreaded being there, not that you could blame him. He and Kazutora had been friends since they were twelve. It was not easy to come to terms with the idea of his lifelong friend running away, not knowing if he would ever see him again when they’ve already experienced so much, too much together. But Baji couldn’t stop him, not when Kazutora’s mind had been made up. He was dedicated to you, and he’d follow you off the edge of the Earth if you asked him to, not that you would ever ask or even imply.
All Baji could do now was offer his support in any way that he could, and in this case, it meant offering his bike to his best friend to retrieve his girlfriend from her home since he no longer had his bike in his possession, a notion that hurt Baji even more when Kazutora explained the situation to him just hours ago. Those bikes, the ones the founding members of Toman rode on for several occasions, sometimes even for their own enjoyment, meant the world and then some to each of them. It was a part of them, a part of who they were. In this way, Kazutora had lost a piece of himself, but it no longer mattered to him, or at least, he forced himself to believe that.
“Took you long enough,” Baji said monotonously, showing no real emotion in that moment, most likely due to his own conflicting emotions he was at war with on the inside.
“Sorry, but I’m here now.”
Baji deliberately avoided looking Kazutora in the eye. He wasn’t mad at him, per se. He was worried, concerned, unsure of what to do at the moment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not just from the flat surface of the chair but from the growing tension, the only sound being the called out departure times for buses ready for take off from the speakers.
“Got your tickets ready?” Baji asked, still avoiding his gaze from you and Kazutora.
“Yeah. we got ‘em,” you murmured.
“Good.” Awkward tension. It wasn’t awkward necessarily, but it was clear that words needed to be said. Particularly, Baji needed to speak and after a few more minutes, once the atmosphere became too unbearable, he broke the silence between the three of you.
“You still think this is a good idea?”
You and Kazutora lifted your heads, surprised at the sudden question.
“Leaving, I mean. Think it’s a good idea? ‘cause I don’t.”
Your eyes flickered down to your feet, feeling the weight of the skepticism in his tone. There was no malice in the way he spoke, though slightly hostile but he only had worry, worry for you and Kazutora.
“We already talked about this, Baji,” your boyfriend interjected, taking a step closer to his dark-haired best friend who finally turned his attention to Kazutora. “We have a plan.”
“Yeah, a half-assed plan. You don’t even know where you’re going,” Baji spat, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Doesn’t make it better that you only thought of this yesterday.”
“It was on a whim.”
“No shit.”
Silence creeped over the three of you again. Baji was mad, pissed off. Kazutora tried to defend you and him. You sat there nervously, unsure of how to properly explain yourselves but you didn’t need to. Kazutora was prepared to take the fault and heat for the two of you.
“Do the others know yet?” Kazutora asked. It was a question he had avoided asking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they had to say about him leaving abruptly, if they had anything to say at all.
“Nah, I didn’t tell them, not yet.”
Kazutora nodded, thanking Baji for not telling their friends yet. Though, if he had told them, more than likely, they’d be waiting with Baji at the station as well, either trying to discourage them from taking off or offering their support just as Baji was. Reluctant support that is. Neither Kazutora nor Baji could imagine the onslaught of questions and worried comments the others would have the second they found out the situation.
In that sense, it puts you and Kazutora more at ease knowing your friends were not in the loop just yet. But unfortunately for Baji, he’d have to face their wrath in the morning when he finally breaks the news to them, a moment he was already beginning to dread as he anxiously ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Mikey’s gonna be pissed, y’know. So are Draken and the others when I tell them.”
“You really think so?”
Baji could smack him, but he didn’t, not wanting to put him and his best friend in bad standing before he faces the reality of never seeing him again.
“The hell do you think? They’ll be more pissed that you didn’t say anything either.”
“Yeah, well it’s not any of their concern anyway.”
He could really smack Kazutora right now, but once again, he refrained, for your sake. Baji clenched his fist tight, knuckles turning white, brows tightening in frustration at Kazutora’s lack of faith in their friends.
“They’re gonna be concerned, asshole. You think Mikey’s gonna be happy when he finds out you’re gone or when he finds out you sold your bike to some shop?
“I don’t give a damn what Mikey thinks.”
The urge to smack him was growing, turning into the need to punch some damn sense into him.
“Doesn’t matter. You think it’s easy to stand here and watch you take off when you don’t even know where the hell you’re going.”
The tension between the two friends was rising, their voice growing in volume, attracting the attention of the other awaiting passengers. But Kazutora couldn’t argue with him on the last bit. It was true - their destination was unknown at the moment. And with an unclear path ahead of them, it was fair for Baji to be concerned for Kazutora and his girlfriend. Taking a deep breath, Baji spoke again, his eyes downcast as he shifted his gaze away.
“I don’t know where you’re going, or if you’re gonna even be okay.”
“We will be. You gotta trust me.” There was a sense of desperation in the way Kazutora urged his best friend to have faith in him, in you, faith in them to make the right decision, to let them live their life far from the pain they experienced in this city.
Baji pursed his lips, closing his eyes as he fought back the dying need to punch Kazutora back to his senses like he had been fighting to do all night, but he didn’t. It wasn’t his life to live after all. He knew too well of the hardships you and Kazutora endured daily at the hands of abusive parents. He couldn’t relate. He was fortunate enough to have a life that he didn’t need to complain about. Maybe there were some things he wished would change but he was mildly content with what life presented to him. After all, Toman was his life, his family and that’s all he needed but for people like you and Kazutora, happiness was only temporary when you lived with hellish parents. He empathized with you, but he still didn’t believe running away was the answer.
“I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean I have to be okay with this.”
And he wasn’t going to ever be okay with you and Kazutora running away, but that was the closest to support of your choices either of you were going to receive from him.
The sound of the PA system broke their conversation, their ears tuning in to what the overhead speaker was announcing.
“Bus 422 departs in 10 minutes at 12am. Passengers, please have your boarding tickets ready on hand when you enter the bus.” Bus 422; that was their bus. This was it, the curtain call. Baji turned his head to see a tired looking station attendant standing by a now-open door leading out to the dock where the buses were parked, calling out for people to board the bus within the next ten minutes before departure.
“You guys should go now,” he muttered solemnly.
“But-”
“Nah. No ‘buts’. Get on that damn bus now before I change my mind.”
Kazutora flinched at his friend’s demand, but you knew it wasn’t out of fear. He was sad; they both were. Who knew under what circumstance they’d be able to see each other again. Baji was right after all - they had no idea where they were going. Their only plan was to leave and get as far away from here as possible, but there was no real plan the minute their getaway succeeded.
Kazutora reached his hand out for you to take, tangling your fingers together as you stood shakily from your seat, picking your suitcase up from the ground with a tight grip, probably from the sudden rush of anxiety as the attendant continued to call out for passengers. You hadn’t said more than a few words to Baji, but you were too nervous to speak to him, knowing you’d just stumble and stutter trying to justify your escape, not that you needed to.
Kazutora was prepared to walk toward the exit with you in tow when Baji put a hand on his shoulder. The golden eyed boy turned around, and with a mutual understanding in their gaze, Kazutora embraced Baji for what would be, seemingly, their final farewell.
“Take care of yourself. And take care of her,” Baji whispered, a hint of hurt in his voice as he tried not to come to terms with the reality of his best friend’s departure.
Kazutora sniffled. “I will. Don’t forget about me, okay?”
Baji scoffed, a playful smirk pulling at his lips as he patted Kazutora’s head, pulling away from their hug. “Like I could do that.”
Kazutora smiled, though it was a painful smile. You silently watched the wholesome interaction between the two friends, suppressing the tears in your eyes. Your boyfriend turned away from Baji for the last time, grasping your hand in his as he guided you toward the exit, walking past the attendant and stepping out onto the small dock. Baji could only was watch as the attendant shut the door, sealing the barrier that separated him from his childhood friend, forced to come to terms with Kazutora’s uncertain future.
Kazutora helped you tuck your suitcase and his own into the compartment of the bus, and just barely, your ears caught the sound of a familiar faint tune playing on the speakers. Even though static and the song nearly hard to hear, the synthesized melody wasn’t hard to decipher, and you immediately made it out to be the song, “Days of Thunder” by The Midnight, a song and band you had come to adore.
The attendant called out once more that the bus was ready to depart, prompting you and Kazutora to quickly step toward the entrance of the bus, the attendant checking your tickets before allowing you two to board. The bus, upon entrance, smelled just as stale and musty as the station. Kazutora trudged down the aisle in front of you, guiding you to your seats before stepping aside, letting you take the window seat, and he sat in the aisle seat.
Other than you and Kazutora, the bus was void of people, with just about 5 more passengers taking seats toward the very front and back of the bus, leaving you and Kazutora in the middle section by yourselves. The driver of the bus closed the doors with a loud clamp, the boisterous roar of the engine echoing into the night as the bus slowly pulled out of the lot.
“The Midnight” became a fading background hum as the bus departed from the station, wheels turning, carrying the heavy ton of aluminum down the dark road ahead. You rested your head against the window, staring out into the night sky, subconsciously lacing your fingers with Kazutora’s, his own intertwining with yours as he leaned his head back against the lumpy headrest.
The song continued to echo in your head, almost like a taunt as your mind’s eye replayed the scenes of your first interaction with your now-boyfriend and possible future husband. It seemed like it was only yesterday when you watched him charismatically fail at retrieving a stuffed animal you desperately vied for. Your giggles and his smile emanate in your memories, a soft, single tear rolling down your cheek as you reminisced on easier times, when life seemed so much more simple. He made life easier, better for you and you wished you could turn back the hands of time to return to that fateful night, the night that changed everything.
➽───────────────❥
Multicolored lights ranging from bright azure to soft vermillions lit up the lively retro arcade you found yourself in at 11pm, dozens of old games from the 1980’s lining the beige colored, ratty walls, along with large pinball machines emanating loud tunes from their back speakers and four medium-sized claw games centered in the heart of the gallery. Synthwave-esque music boomed out of the arcade’s overhead radio, giving the place an old school vibe that transported you back to 1984, the squealing of a romantic saxophone ringing out into the small space.
“Los Angeles” by The Midnight. You recognized that song anywhere, its familiar woodwind sound thrumming into your ears as you clicked your feet to the beat, making your way through the narrow walkways, bumping shoulders against teens blocking the path to your favorite arcade game.
As quickly as the song faded out, a new one began to play, “Dance with Somebody”. What a way to bring you back to a time period you hadn’t existed in. That’s what The Midnight felt like for you and this time, you were in need of comfort music.
The arcade was almost completely dark, with only the light of the machines and small, hanging, rainbow lights illuminating the small walkways, casting soft glows against the dilapidated walls with the occasional strobe light nearly blinding you. The place had seen better days, but it was your favorite spot to kill time in after another painful argument with your parents.
You were surprised they hadn’t just kicked you out yet. It was evident they weren’t proud of you, or your impending future so why did they feel the need to keep you around anymore? The lingering memories of your previous disagreement was a backhouse thought now, your focus being solely on the game in your field of vision.
Several of the machines had a white thin paper taped to their screens, “Out of Order” written in thick, black ink to indicate an out-of-use game. The arcade itself was on its last foot, only bringing in its usual clientele of high and/or drunk teenagers at late hours of the night or children during the early hours of its operation. However, its reputation as a hot box for stoners grew, leaving parents afraid of sending their children there even during daytime hours. It was true - it had become a watering hole for potheads and drunkards, and tonight was no exception, the arcade bustling with business from teens around your age reeking of weed and musk, making you cringe, your nose scrunching from the putrid odor.
You tried not to focus too much on the bursts of drunken laughter and loud hoots from guys drunkenly slamming their hands on the keys of neighboring games as you slid a coin into the machine’s slot.
Thankfully, your favorite game, Galaga, was still in operation. It was popular amongst the boys that frequented the spot and sometimes, you had to wait for a turn at the game, which would then turn into hour-long sessions once you took over. You weren’t best at the game per se, but it was the one game that brought you the most joy and excitement, trying your best to forget the incessant screaming and yelling of your parents echoing in your brain.
The sound of button mashing and the joystick hitting against its resistance filled your surrounding soundscape as you became entranced in the game’s 8-bit graphics, the melodic theme catching in your eardrums along with the pew pew pews of your blaster going off.
You had become so in sync with the music and visuals of the game that you barely registered the sound of padding feet creeping up behind you, a soft jingle of a bell cruising closer to your leaned forward figure. It wasn’t until a waving hand came into sight that you were brought back to reality. However, your sudden blocked vision caused you to be struck by an alien enemy, effectively ending the winning streak you were on.
Your eyes widened in disbelief as the “game over” tune played through the machine’s speakers, big red lettering spelling out your defeat displaying across the miniature screen. You shifted your gaze to the perpetrator of your loss, taking in the sight of a taller boy with dark hair and golden streaks. He had striking amber eyes, an all too noticeable tiger tattoo on the side of his neck and a single earring dangling, the source of the jingling you faintly heard before you were disturbed.
“What the hell, man?” you spat in annoyance. “You jus’ fucked up my game.”
He smirked. It was irritating.
“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d fuck up that bad,” he said with a shit eating grin. It was clear he was trying to be smug about causing you to lose your game, but something about him made you think he was trying too hard, much like the way the other boys that frequented this arcade when they tried speaking to you, even if they were met with dead air on your part.
“Yeah well, you owe me for that,” you shot at him.
His grin never faltered, not even as he nudged you to the side, taking his stance in front of the game before bending his knees to insert an arcade coin into the right slot. He cracked his knuckles in another attempt to seem cool, prompting you to roll your eyes at his douchebaggery. He flashed you another smug grin before readjusting his posture, placing his palm over the head of the joystick as the game roared to life once more.
To your surprise and his horror, he didn’t make it past the second wave of enemies, his face falling in disbelief before bending his knees to insert another coin into the machine. This time he made it to the third wave. It was obvious he had never played Galaga before and it showed through his lack of knowledge of how the game functioned.
“Y’know, you can always watch a tutorial,” you jested, a smug grin of your own curling on your lips. He side-eyed you before jamming another coin into the machine.
“Look, you’re not gonna get this-”
“Just watch me,” he insisted, cutting you off at the end of your sentence as his fingers fumbled with the keys of the game. You had to give him credit this time around; he was doing a lot better than his previous attempts but still, even with his progress, he crashed out at the sixth wave, slamming his fists down in frustration at his fourth or fifth failure, or was it sixth? You had lost count, stifling a chuckle at the way he hung his head low in defeat.
You clapped your hand on his back before turning to walk away.
“Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” you said reassuringly. He lifted his head slightly to look at you as you skipped away from him, his eyes following your every step as you made your way to the claw machines in the center of the arcade just in front of the clear entrance doors, the sound of your shoes muffled against the dirty blue, carpeted floor.
You were definitely no good at these, but you wanted to try your luck anyway. Lady Luck had never been on your side with the claw but the stuffed platypus sitting neatly amongst a sea of toys was too tempting to just walk away from and you were determined to add the fuzzy creature dressed in a suit to your ever-growing collection of stuffed animals.
The machine called for four tokens. You shoved your hand in the back pocket of your shorts to retrieve the remaining number of coins you had left to spend. Six coins, meaning you had one shot at taking home the platypus plush. You slid four of your six tokens into the slot, the machine lighting up with bright white lights as a little jingle played out.
You gripped the ball of the joystick in your palm, your hands slightly clammy from the anticipation. You carefully tilted the lever, allowing the steel teeth to maneuver over the spot where the platypus was laying, right in the center above all the other stuffed toys. It was as if it was placed there just for you to have. Without a second to waste, you slammed your other hand down on the red button, the claw shifting down to grasp at the toy of your choice.
But of course, as you predicted, Lady Luck worked against you. The claw barely latched onto the platypus, the animal slipping through its metal tips as it hoisted itself back up to the roof of the machine, another small jingle ringing out. “Better luck next time,” it sang.
“Damn you,” you muttered under your breath, clicking your tongue in annoyance.
“Need some help?” A familiar voice spoke out behind you, making you spin around to be confronted with the same boy from earlier. You huffed as you looked at him and that stupid grin on his face.
“No thanks. I'm just gonna go home.”
“Already? It’s barely 12.”
“Yeah and?”
He flashed a toothy grin at you before reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out several more tokens.
“How ‘bout another shot?” he asked with a tilt of his head, exposing more of his tiger tattoo. You had to admit to yourself - you were desperate, for the toy anyway.
You swung your arm out to snatch the silver coins from his hand, only to be surprised when he steps back, clicking his tongue three times.
“Ah, ah. You gotta let me do it,” he asserted.
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I can actually do this better than you.”
“Oh really? You’re that confident?” you asked sarcastically.
His damn smile spoke for itself as he stepped in front of the metal frame, taking your spot.
“Yep. I play these a lot for my friends. Just trust me, alright?” He turned to look back at you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to slip him the last two coins in your possession.
Trust him? Like the way you trusted him to get a good score on Galaga and prove you wrong? Sure, but a part of you was curious to see if he could actually win the platypus for you. You really wanted it but you still weren’t too sure if you could trust his skills, especially after his cocky ass attitude he exuded trying to play your favorite game, a game you exceeded him in.
Fuck it - what did you have left to lose? Certainly not your pride but he had his to lose. You dug into your back pocket again and pulled out the last two tokens you had, placing them in his still extended hand, adding to the collection of coins in his possession. He closed his fist around the silver pieces, shifting his attention back towards the machine in front of him. You stood back behind him as he inserted four coins into the machine, lighting the metal box up again as the steel claw came back down.
He centered his focus on the dangling hand, steering it over the platypus the same way you had done earlier, except he shifted it slightly, letting it hover above the head. In this way, the claw would come down and grab the stuffie by its hat. You watched with bated breath, his eyes never leaving the hanging silver teeth. Your mind momentarily repeated the small snippet from Toy Story of the little green toy aliens chanting, “the claw”.
Once he set the crane in place, he pressed down on the red button, the claw coming to life once more as it lowered towards the awaiting prize. You inched closer behind the boy, resting your hands on his shoulders as you peered over him, watching as the steel hinges clutched the hat of the stuffed toy between its fingers. You jolted in elated surprise as the claw shifted over to the drop box, but just before it could come into your possession, the stuffed doll slipped from its talons, plopping back onto the assorted toys resting below.
“Better luck next time,” the speaker rang out again in mockery, making you fume with anger. The boy in front of you seethed, obviously irritated by his continuous bad luck. He rubbed the back of his head, ashamed of getting your hopes up. He shoved four more coins into the machine, and then four more, and another four until he reached his last set of tokens. He felt like an idiot for thinking he could retrieve the doll for you, brushing a hand through his messy hair before turning to face you.
You gave him an awkward smile, unsure of what to tell him. “Think you can get it this time? You got one more shot, y’know.”
He nodded, turning back to the glass screen as he eyed the damned platypus. It’s like it was mocking him. He wasn’t normally this bad at claws but in this instance, his game was thrown out of order, and you caught onto the way he seemed determined to win. You said nothing though. If he wanted to so badly win the damn plushie for you, who were you to tell him to stop? It wasn’t everyday a guy needed to prove his worth to you by attempting and failing at a crane game.
You resisted the urge to laugh as he jammed the last four coins into the small opening of the machine. You were surprised he didn’t just break through the damn tempered glass that separated the two of you from the plush toy. It would’ve saved him the humiliation of losing again.
The game resurrected once more, the claw shifting to the side where the platypus doll was laying on its side from being picked up and dropped repeatedly. And once again, the plush was dropped back into the ocean of toys, the same way it had been dropped the previous attempts. But before you could say anything to the tiger haired boy, he knelt down in front of the small hatch where the toys were dropped off.
Without a second or smart thought, he lifted the thin flap with one hand, sliding his other arm into the wide tunnel, his fingers popping into sight in the machine as he greedily grazed the top of the platypus’ sewn-on hat. Your eyes widened in elated disbelief before you chortled at the sight before you, tears of laughter blurring your vision as he helplessly reached for the damn stuffed animal.
He groaned at your laughing but wasn’t deterred, seeming even more determined to grab the platypus to shut you up. Luckily for him, his arm was long enough to reach further into the tunnel, his fingers barely reaching the hat as he grasped it in between his middle and index finger, carefully lifting it over the small barrier separating the sea of toys and the slide.
He pulled the plush down and scooted back from the machine, lifting the stupid plush toy in the air in elation.
“I did it,” he screamed out, a goofy smile on his face as you continued to laugh at his mischievous behavior. He tossed the platypus at you, catching it in your hands as you hugged the fuzzy creature close to your chest. He smiled endearingly at you before standing back up, dusting off his clothes, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.
“Sorry, it seemed like a good idea,” he said apologetically, though you didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for.
“Idiot. Don’t apologize. Not every guy would do something like that,” you responded, squeezing the platypus plush in the crevice of your arm. For a brief second, your eyes met with his, gazing into those amber eyes that seemed brighter than your uncertain future. And for a second, he was lost in yours.
Like a cheesy romance movie, your favorite song “Gloria” by The Midnight hummed softly in the background, making the moment seem even more cheesy but… romantic. Did this arcade play anything else other than synth music and The Midnight? It surely set the ambience. Life almost seemed to turn out well for you in just those few minutes, until the sound of loud shouting busted your bubble.
It was the arcade manager, his face red with anger as he stomped his way towards you and the boy standing next to you. Shit, you guys were in trouble and every possible bad outcome played out into your head as he inched closer. Fear shot up your spine but before you could make a clear decision, you were being yanked by your arm. You twisted your head to see the boy gripping your arm, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your sweater with a harsh tug.
“Let’s get outta here,” he shouted, already pulling you towards the entrance. You didn’t need to be told twice, your feet moving on their own accord as you let him drag you away, bursting through the double doors and out into the summer night, the angry shouts of the manager calling out from behind as the two of you sprinted across the street, nearly getting hit by a few cars as he guided you away from what was once your sanctuary.
Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you clutched the platypus in your other arm, eyes wide as you stared at the boy in front of you, your legs carrying you far and fast behind him. You had never felt this nervous before, but somehow, even with someone you barely knew, you felt alive, like life was finally worth living for.
After a few more seconds of sprinting down the sidewalk, your legs tired out, coming to a stop in front of an open convenient store, shrill whistles of breath heaving from your lungs. You bent forward, cupping your knees with your hands as you tried to catch your breath. He had stopped too, combing a hand through his now sweaty hair. When he finally caught his breath, he laughed, his light chuckles turning into full fits of laughter as he threw his head back like a madman.
You couldn’t help but laugh with him, realizing you were close to getting in trouble for something so innocuous, yet you escaped, both of you did. It was evident this wasn’t his first rodeo, and he expressed no shame in his careless actions.
The laughter died down, both of you leaning against the cool, brick wall of the convenient store. The silence was comfortable before he sliced through it, turning his head to face you.
“I’m Kazutora, by the way.”
The mention of his name caught you off guard, blinking fast as you registered his name again. Kazutora.
You breathed out your own name, almost soft enough for him to miss. He nodded, silently repeating your name under his breath that you could barely make out.
Your eyes moved around, taking in your surroundings as the two of you stood together in silence. Even in the dead hours of the night, there was movement of cars speeding down the street, offering some balance between the soft sounds of your breathing and the whistles of the cool, summer night wind.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kazutora push off the wall, taking a step infront of you, his tall, lean frame towering over you. Now, you felt nervous, but in a good way.
“You hungry?” Your stomach growled in response, like it had a mind of its own and knew what he asked. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes then?”
“Sure.”
He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him into the small store. You pushed off the wall and trotted behind him, pushing past the doors as you were embraced by the flickering lights of the old convenient store, the cashier, with his face stuffed into a magazine, not sparing you two a glance as you headed into the narrow aisles.
You watched as Kazutora’s eyes lit up in excitement at the array of snacks and goodies, his hands already darting out to grab handfuls of candies and chips. You followed in pursuit, tucking the platypus into your armpit again as you picked out several bags of chips and cookies. The store had soft, lo-fi music going on in the background, adding to the munchy experience you and Kazutora were experiencing, and you weren’t even high. Yet, it felt like you were, high on life, high on adrenaline, high on him.
Kazutora made his way to the refrigerators, struggling to open the doors to grab bottles of beer with his hands full of delicious treats.
“Hey,” you whispered, getting close so only he can hear you. “We can’t buy those. We’re underage, y’know.”
Well, you assumed he was just as underage as you were. He didn’t look older than you anyway, if by maybe a year or two, but it still didn’t make him old enough to purchase alcohol.
He brushed off your concern, giving you a reassuring smile in response.
“Don’t worry 'bout it. I got this.” He grinned, that stupid, shit eating grin he gave you earlier before bombing at Galaga. Great, you were definitely getting in trouble this time.
He stepped away from the refrigerator, slamming the door shut as he struggled with the bottles of beer and the excessive amount of gluttony in his arms. The two of you waltzed to the register counter, letting the merchandise slide out of your arms. The cashier perked an eyebrow at Kazutora as he registered the sight of the many bottles of beer on the counter.
“Got any ID?” the cashier asked in a monotone voice.
Kazutora reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opened the flap, flashing his ID, his fake ID, to the cashier. You prepared yourself for the worst, taking a deep, shaky breath as the cashier eyed the card. You were sure the man could smell your nervousness and the bullshit spewing out of your new companion. The ID itself looked like trash, and it was obvious it was a fake, but the man was in no mood to deal with teenager problems or the police, sighing as he continued to ring up the other items on the marble counter.
Well, you two could be in trouble for buying alcohol as underage teens but this guy would be in even hotter water for selling it to minors.
After calculating your total, you whipped your own wallet out. For his efforts, you decided upon yourself that you would pay for the snacks. He had already won you, or stolen for you, your platypus and he was risking getting arrested for flashing a clearly fake ID. It was the least you could do, pulling out a couple dollars to hand to the cashier, telling him to keep the change as Kazutora gathered the clear bags of goodies.
The cashier gave you an unamused nod, thanking you as you and Kazutora emerged back into the night, a blanket of darkness covering you two up as you descended down the sidewalk.
He found a small park area for you two to sit at, pointing out a rickety, wooden table near a set of swings. With the bags in hand, he ran towards the table, and you went after him, giggling as the wind swept through your clothes, giving you a rush of liberation.
For the next hour or two, you and Kazutora engorged yourself on all the candy and chips you bought, cracking open beer after beer as you exchanged stories of your lives. It was during story time that you realized you and Kazutora were a lot similar than anticipated. He, too, came from a broken family, a home colder than a winter’s night that he yearned to break free from. You learned about his gang, his best friend and the life he made with them, sharing endless stories of fights he’s been in and gangs they’ve taken down, places they’ve driven down to on their bikes, how their gang was formed at the insistence of his best friend, Baji, to protect him from a gang that targeted him when he was only twelve.
He lived life in the fast lane while you were still going behind the speed limit. He listened empathetically while you shared with him the life you had been living until now, how domineering your parents were and how little they cared for you. He was sympathetic and understood the hardship of growing up with neglectful and mentally abusive parents, your stories reminding him of his own distorted home life.
“Hey, I get it. It ain’t easy living with parents like that.”
“No, it isn’t. It fucking sucks.”
“Yeah, it does,” he sighed before speaking again. “But hey, at least you got me now, right?”
You turned to face him, knitting your brows in confusion. He chuckled at your expression, seeing the confused glaze in your eyes.
“Don’t think this is the last time we hang out. We’re friends now. You owe me, for almost getting me arrested,” he joked.
You rolled your eyes, huffing in response to his joke. “I didn’t ask you to steal the platypus, dumbass.”
“But I did anyway. You’re welcome.”
A barely noticeable grin curled your lips, but he saw it. He didn’t say anything about it though, tipping his head up to gaze at the starry sky. You did the same, tracing the stars with your eyes.
You weren’t sure where your newfound friendship with Kazutora would lead you but as you sneaked a peak of him through your peripherals, you knew he was going to be the change you had been searching for, the change you wanted.
➽───────────────❥
The tap tap tap on your shoulder forced you out of your memories, blinking rapidly as you turned to your boyfriend, his hand still on your shoulder, tilting his head to look at you.
“You okay?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah, just… thinking.”
“‘Bout what?”
You shrugged. “Our future, I guess.”
His eyes flickered down, as if you got him thinking about the future too. “I get it, but we’ll be okay. Y’know that, right?”
You gave a simple nod before turning to look at him, your eyes glossing over with unshed tears for the millionth time tonight. “Promise?”
His hand slipped from your shoulder to grab your hand, holding it tight in his, tangling your fingers together in a tight bond, a bond that resembled the tight knit connection the two of you shared as a couple.
“Promise.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, your chin trembling as you leaned your head on his shoulder, relishing in his warmth as soft sobs escaped from your throat, closing your eyes once more as you envisioned a better life. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, resting his cheek on the top of your head, closing his eyes as the lights in the vehicle dimmed, the bus continuing its path down the darkened road toward an unknown destiny.
But as you leaned on his shoulder, you envisioned a perfect future. In your mind’s eye, you saw him, nestled atop his bike with you on his back, chin perched on his shoulder as the wind whipped past you, a blurry ocean of sun’s orange rays in your peripheral vision as you focused on the road ahead. In this life, you were carefree, no worries weighing down on your shoulders as you zipped through the streets of the city, no destination in mind but the road clear ahead towards the happiness you both desired. Despite your current circumstances, you knew that’s where your life was heading towards again, but only time will tell how long it’ll be until that future becomes a reality, until you two can be carefree kids once more, riding into the sunset as you relive your endless days of thunder.
But, only time will tell.
©ALL WORKS BELONG TO CHESHITORA. PLAGARISM AND STEALING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR ORIGINAL CREATORS BUT THE STORIES ARE MY OWN WORK.
