Archive of Our Own ^beta

The pub bathroom floor was covered in grime as Arisu stumbled through the door and away from the bustling noise just outside. He felt like he was suffocating from the atmosphere back there; his only escape from the bumbling drunk idiots was the dark and manky toilets. Slamming the first stall door open he staggered in, quickly locking it, before sliding to the floor. It was covered in all sorts of stains, with small flecks of glitter looking to be embedded in the thick layer of vile substances, and hopefully, unused sheets of toilet paper littered around the floor.

It was revolting and the perfect escape from the hell that had been tonight's outing. A group of kids from his lectures had invited him and some others out for drinks to celebrate passing their exams, choosing the rundown bar for the cheap alcohol and leniency for other substances. He’d only agreed for the free drinks but of course, he hadn’t even gotten those- no he’d been roped into paying for 2 rounds of shots and a few girl's drinks. If that hadn’t been bad enough the constant talking, talking, talking buzzed around his head like hornets. Not talking to him but around. Laughs and smiles and memories being made to look back on and repeat those smiles.

He wanted that.

He wanted to be able to smile with them and be invited to play pool and have inside jokes. It was a selfish desire; Karube and Chouta were enough for him- too much if you asked his father. No, the large group outside wasn't the type he’d want to befriend anyway. If they were he wouldn’t be hiding with his head between his knees in a dingy bathroom stall trying not to sob as his lungs burned and his hands tingle.

Karube and Chouta being here would make it better. They’d be strong and keep up with the constant stream of chatting like it was nothing, or pull him out of the pub to roam the dark and empty streets on empty stomachs and no cash. But Karube was working 2 train rides away and Chouta was at his own university. They weren't here and Arisu was just too weak to handle it anymore. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t talk, couldn’t go to university, couldn’t be here.
He couldn’t liv-

“Would you mind holding my hand, Please?” A smooth and deep voice cut him out of his spiralling to instead cause a wave of confusion. Hold his hand? Was that some sort of innuendo he was too reclused and virginal to understand? Perhaps it wasn't anything sexual at all and instead, a new street name for a drug he’d be too scared to touch.

Just as his thoughts began to spiral into the complexity of what holding his hand might mean he heard a small knock low on the stall, just above its hazardous opening. Why they couldn’t install stalls that actually reached the floor Arisu would forever question, but he found that maybe they had a few benefits as watched with teary eyes as a large tanned hand-stretched under the stall wall. The other man was clearly stretching to reach his hand under it, only about an inch of his thick wrist showed and the hand was shaking where he held it.

Arisu hesitated for a moment even though he now understood he really was only being asked to hold hands. It was certainly an odd request- one he’d never heard before- and he couldn’t find a logical reason to be asked it. He knew it wasn’t some form of prank being pulled by the group that had dragged him here, they’d all been hustled around a high table playing a shawty game of blackjack when he’d quietly excused himself. There was also the whole issue of him not knowing where that hand had been. It could’ve been touching any sort of body part, but then he was sitting on a public bathroom floor that most definitely hasn’t been cleaned since the place was first brought. He was a bit late caring about germs at this point.

Awkwardly and carefully slipping his slender hand into the stranger's, he mustered as much confidence as he could to shakily whisper “Why am I holding your hand?” His speech came out croaked and short of breath. He sniffed and felt like the sound ricocheted against the plastic walls that encased him.

A small grunt was heard from the stall next door. For the briefest of moments, Arisu panicked that this really was some horrific sexual thing, but the grunt sounded more of pain than of self-pleasure. “Moral support” was his short answer that told him nothing at all. Was it mocking his earlier choked, wet breaths? Genuine support from a stranger in the stall over?

His voice was still quiet as he started “I don’t…” He trailed off as he cringed at his words. It sounded so self-centred, who said this man was offering him moral support. To say he didn’t need it was to ignore the possibility that the other guy was struggling.

Quickly after he’d trailed off a rumbling chuckle could be heard, before starting the most absurd sentence he’d heard that day. “My friends might have accidentally slipped a laxative in my beer earlier. I’m currently experiencing all circles of Dante's hell in one moment and need some support, if you wouldn’t mind.” The stranger's hand gave a firm and warm squeeze before slackening his grip. He was offering to pull his hand away and leave.

Considering his options, he quickly squeezed his hand back as tightly as he could. A promise that he wouldn’t leave him. “I’ll be your Virgil then. Lead you through the circles providing little help beyond snarky commentary.” His joke fell flat to him, perhaps it was his dry tone or heavy heart.

His hand-holding buddy didn’t seem to mind his lack of comedic tone, however, letting out a small huff before asking with genuine curiosity, “You’ve read Dante’s divine trilogy?”

“Nope, I did however play the 2010 xbox360 game dante's Inferno ”

The stranger let out a loud bark of laughter, like what he said was the funniest thing said in a top-tier comedian's special. He didn’t understand the humour in his statement. He had over a hundred hours on the game- a game he didn’t even enjoy- and had completed it too many times to be healthy. Really the only thing funny about it was how utterly depressing it was.

There was nothing comical about any of his life. Paying a fortune for a degree he doesn’t even want, skipping half of his lectures because he can’t stand to get out of his bed, and having a handful of acquaintances to talk to. You could film it and insert laugh track after laugh track and still no one would fall for the editing tricks to laugh. Yet, here was some intruder in a bathroom stall cackling at his misery. He hated it. Pools of sickly acid bubbled in his stomach and up his throat at the thought of how he must seem- an idiot. A fool who learnt more from mindless games than his lessons.

At some point in his mind-numbing mental spiral, he must have made a gurgled cry at the blasphemous howling. It stopped suddenly and with the slight and quick intake of breath, it was easy to imagine the other's mouth was pulled into a silent ‘o’. A few seconds after the sharp gasp he spoke, “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I’m laughing at the world and how…fantastical it is. How two souls can find the same story in such different mediums. It's beautiful how the same story can be told over and over yet humanity never gets bored of it.”

His words sounded like some bullshit he hears English lit majors ramble on about in the library. Arisu found it hard to believe any of it. He didn’t ‘find’ the story in the game, it was simply told to him plain and clearly, to think he put work in to understand it felt ridiculous. A familiar and all-consuming pang strung his heart, the organ squeezing itself into unfamiliar emotions he’d never be able to voice. The words suffocated him as they clogged in his throat. He clenched his hands.

The stranger's hand clenched back.

“Arisu. My name. It’s Arisu.” wanting to change the motion of the conversation as soon as possible he forced his name out of his chapped lips. “Might as well know the name of the guy whose hand you're holding.”

“Nice to formally meet you then, Arisu. I’m Kyuma Ginji.” Kyumas voice was smooth and rich, each word seemingly dripping off his tongue like honey. A small strain in his voice as times ran deep underneath the oozing charm. Arisu found his whole full-name introduction to be a bit of a waste for strangers in a bathroom. It wasn’t like they’d see each other again so what was the point in giving over their full name?

Outside in the main area, he heard a loud round of cheers. He guessed they swindled one of the other weak-willed group members into buying a round of shots. Screwing his eyes shut he forced himself not to slam his head into the stall wall.

Kyuma’s thumb started to rub soothing circles against the gaunt bones of his knuckles, a deep, grounding pressure. “So, Arisu, what brings you to this fine establishment?” His desire to find a space to ignore- or attempt to ignore- the horrors just outside the bathroom door was foiled by a question fleshed out with an overused joke. He wanted to scream, to tear his hair out, to smash the cracked porcelain toilet.

Instead, the words and sobs he’d been holding back came spilling out without control.

“A group of classmates invited me out for drinks, and- I mean- my two friends are so far away now that I agreed?” His statement came out more question-like than he meant in tone but he continued with a shuddering sob, “But it's like I'm a ghost or something- wait no. I’m worse than a ghost, a ghost could float away or influence the world around them. I’m like…a piggy bank. They ignore me till they need me to pay for their drinks and they smash me open. And there's only so many times you can put that piggy bank back together before it's unfixable”

He slammed his face into his knees to shut himself up. A piggy bank? Fixing it? His analogy sounded ridiculous to his own ears, but, when it came to expressing his own depressive feelings of the night it was too hard. His breathing picked up as he focused on the anguish and desperation that had suffocated his lungs just a few minutes earlier. A burning raging need to exist with people that he yearned to express to the stranger but failed.

“ I understand. You want to be a part of that group, not a used outsider. I understand you Arisu” Kyuma spoke softly, but a hot bubbling pit of jealousy raged somewhere in Arisu's stomach.

“ No, I don’t think you do. You have friends- close friends- you were seeing tonight before your prank went wrong. I have nothing here.” His last words were said with a choked sob before he pressed his free hand to his face. That wasn’t the truth. He did have friends, he had Karube and Chouta and that was all he really wanted. If he told himself that enough times one day it would be true. He wasn’t a selfish person for wanting more, he knew how important those two were, he swears, but he… he wants.

“ You’re right I don’t understand how you mean it, but I understand it how I can. I’m from the side you yearn to be on, and I understand that feeling and why someone would want it, because I used to be on your side, too.” Kyuma took a few moments to breathe. In and out. In and out. For every steady breath he made Arisu took 2 wet and shaky intakes. “You're not selfish. For wanting more friends. It's not a selfish thing to want for more”

“Isn’t that the whole definition of greed? Wanting more when it’s not necessary. Seems pretty disgustingly selfish ” and wasn’t that what he was for needing more than he’s allowed? It wasn’t like he deserved more than his best friends (even though they were pushing what he was allowed, but they meant too much to push away.) The truth of the matter was he was a selfish, waste of a human that can’t even handle being in a room so loud without his voice.

It wasn’t their fault they didn’t include him, it was entirely his.

“Your definition of greed is so closed minded Arisu. Sure a more hedonistic lifestyle could be seen as bad if it comes at the cost of others' lively hoods…but what about those that lust for safety. Or money to feed their children. Or a thirst for knowledge. Greed, being selfish, isn’t inherently a bad thing. Nothing in human nature is a bad thing, it's simply a thing, what matters is how you apply it” Kyuma gave a comforting squeeze at the painful breath Arisu took in. “You're not a bad person for wanting more connection, Arisu. Trust me, a connection is one of the greatest things you can experience- it's what makes life worth living. You're not selfish for wanting Arisu. You're not.”

Arisu let out a loud whimper as the words forced a flood of emotion he’d barricaded years ago to spill out. For years he’d forced himself to believe the devilish lies his father had slipped him about his need for connection, for affection. How it wasn’t manly and made him weak. He’d gotten better at hiding it, no longer going up to him begging to be held after a nightmare or being overly touchy with classmates. He’d blocked it all off, blocked all the grief and the shame and the desire and it came out into one trembling and world-shattering confession.

“I think I want to die.”

It was quiet for a while; the soft squeezes of Kyuma’s hand felt like Morse code. ‘It's okay’. ‘You'r not alone’. ‘You have people to talk to’. The same phrases he heard all across media and had spilt out from his friends' mouths- they didn’t know better. They thought it helped. That it would suddenly change his entire mindset because someone special to him said that it was all going to be okay. As he felt the soft presses continue Arisu shoved his bottom lip between his teeth and bit until the pressure was too strong to focus on anything else.

The squeezes continued to overload his senses, still, even when a small trickle of blood dripped down his chin.

“Are you going to act on it?” Kyumas voice shook slightly- a giveaway that the confession had rattled him more than Arisu first thought it would. A small shudder ran its way up and down his spine at the realisation that his response hadn’t been mindless positivity but instead a question about him. Not of the world, or the far future, but of him. He was the focus of Kyumas question and new tears sprung to his lash line as he shook his head.

No, he wouldn’t. He’d made a promise to Chouta a year ago when he’d found him on the school roof. He’d made a promise to Karube 2 years ago when he wandered in on him and a bottle of unopened pills. He’d promised his mother's ghost he’d keep living. Through small gasps, he managed to whisper loud enough, “Nuh uh. Can’t. Won’t. Promised my friends I wouldn’t and I can’t let 'em down. Can’t make em miss me”

Kyuma breathed in deeply, a small gasp leaving him in his own personal struggle. Suddenly his tone was filled with slight wonder, like a small chiming of church bells was ringing alongside it. “Is that why you keep living then? Your meaning to life? For your friends to not grieve you?”

“Of course. It’s a bit selfish of me, right? I-I know we’ve covered it but…” one conversation doesn't break a built-up habit. He’d chosen to ignore Kyumas strange ‘meaning of life’ comment, it was too philosophical for a man he was holding hands with in a dingy bathroom stall. It didn’t matter what his meaning of life was, he couldn’t even answer it. He was to the preferred belief of living is just…what you do. There's no meaning towards it, it's just a mindless action we do before we stop.

“But nothing. Would you miss your friends if they were gone?”

Jolting at the horrific and world-fragmenting implication Arisu shouted “yes!” He coughed slightly around the mucus building in his throat. “Yes of course I'd grieve for them, they're my friends, my everything.”

“Then it's not selfish to keep living for them. It's a mutual exchange of love- they miss you like you miss them. It's beautiful, the connection of friends and it seems to be our meaning to life.” Kyumas voice held a strangely fantastical and whimsical tone. It set Arisus Nerves alight for reasons he’d never be able to understand.

“Your meaning of life. I don’t have one Kyuma, just an unoriginal reason to keep living.” wasn’t that all it was? A singular reason. Arisu wasn’t stupid, he knew what he was experiencing could hardly be called living. Surviving was the more accurate term, a life without plan and reason was a waste of resources. That's what his father always said before he shipped him off here for a stupid business course. Missing lessons, staying up for days on end to play games, and surviving off ramen and whatever alcohol he can scrounge up.

It's not living- not thriving. He’d be better off dead and he’d welcome it gladly.

Bile was creeping up his throat the more he talked about himself. He never was one to enjoy the spotlight, rather, he liked to stay in the wings and hope he’d never be called upon for anything. So for it all to be on him felt wrong and skin crawling. Finding something to deflect to, he latched tightly onto the wispiness of Kyumas thoughts.

“You keep mentioning a meaning to life, and the beauty in things. Are you an artist or something?” His voice kept cracking as he spoke and he felt a lot like the shattered mirror that sat just outside the stall. By the time he stood up his trousers would be covered in unknown grime and his heart would’ve been pulled apart and shoddily stitched together again with fragile thread in unskilled hands.

“I’m a musician, lead singer of a band with my friends. Suppose that mixed with my more…exposing beliefs makes me examine things through a lens coloured like the rainbow.” Kyumas' voice was filled with a few small and deep giggles as he mentioned his exposing beliefs, though Arisu couldn’t really understand why. What was funny was the thought of the man- however, he may look- wearing a pair of 3D glasses and claiming to understand how artistic the world is.

Arisu took a deep breath to calm his still widely beating heart. “How long have you been playing?” It was interesting to hear from someone living his dream. Back when he still had the courage to touch his acoustic guitar it had been a deep-seated desire to make music with a bunch of friends, of course, it had been unrealistic and wishful thinking. His father had shown him how weak his own skills were and the realistic life of a struggling musician and it just…it had been easier to go to university for some fancy degree like his younger brother.

“Couple years- since high school really. Got our first ‘proper’ gig in some shabby bar right out of it, fuck, that was a night. I still have a scar from having a glass thrown at me, but it was one of the proudest moments of my life. We really only started getting big a few years ago though when we got signed to some fancy company after my fathers- after I started putting my all into it.” Arisu latched onto the word farther like flame to kindling. Farther, farther, farther. The tone was so warm, like a fire. Red warped around the core in a bright dance of licking heat. But in the middle, if you looked close enough, a burning blue of grief stood out just waiting to be tapped at.

“Do you” he let out a wet cough “What do you mean by started putting your all into it?” Arisu took a second to think, although it felt like an hour in his mind. Would it be wrong to ask his follow-up question? If some random person asked him about his mother in a bathroom stall he’d feel awkward but then Kyuma seemed much friendlier and more open than him. And it wasn’t like he was asking without reason- he’d already been mentioned. And perhaps, some selfish part of him, wanted to see how someone in a similar situation to him reacted. How much of a failure he is in the face of a parent's death even after all these years.

“And what does your father have to do with it?”

Kyuma didn’t speak for a minute and Arisu heard his heartbeat in his ears like a thundering clap. The hand not retracting was the only thing preventing him from freaking out for what felt like the thousandth time that hour.

Finally, he spoke with a minute warble in his otherwise steady and soothing voice, “When me and my bandmates were first starting out we weren't all that serious about it, not like we are now. We weren't exactly making money and those of us who had parent support could feel it slipping at our problems. But still, my father was supportive. As long as we were having fun he’d continue to celebrate every small goal we had. He was still worried though with our money problems and, I mean it probably wasn’t, but I blame that for why he got sick. I know that wasn’t the reason- stress can’t cause cancer. That was sorta a wake-up call for us- life is just so short and precious and we wanted our number 1 fan to see us reach success, so we threw ourselves into it like never before.” Kyuma sniffed a few times as he told his story, and all through it Arisu listened and squeezed his hand.

Moral support.

“By the time we got our first well-paying gig he was already bedridden in hospital. But I was so excited that I was able to afford his special back row sake that I snuck it into the hospital room only to find that his stomach cancer had just…he couldn’t drink it. And it was like the final nail in the coffin, you know? Death before the grim came for him. Me caring about life- me caring to live every day like it could be my last- happened too late for him to taste our success but I won’t let that happen to anyone else if I have the chance to stop it.”

They were both in tears by the time he’d finished. There were parts still uncovered in his tail, things Kyuma found too painful to tell, and things Arisu felt were too personal to touch, but it was enough to see the similarities and dissimilarities.

In the face of a parent's death, Kyuma had grown- flourished even. And all he’d done was sink into his weakness, unable to be the child his father wanted. Idly he recognised that Kyuma had a support system of his friends and the understanding of life and death from an adult perspective, and not the lonely child view Arisu had had. But that meant nothing. That meant everything. That meant something. They’d both still lost someone that meant the world to them.

“I relate. With the…with the parent being gone. My mother died as a child and” he gave a tight squeeze “If it's any consolation I think he’d be proud of you for that outlook. And proud of you for making it so far.”

“... I think your mother would be proud too”

Choking on a sob Arisu mumbled “No, no she wouldn’t”

“Why wouldn’t she Arisu?”

“I can’t even make my father proud, she, I…she just wouldn’t be proud.” wouldn’t be proud at making dad hate him, wouldn't be proud of him failing his classes, wouldn't be proud at his lack of friends, wouldn’t be proud of him for being himself. “Yet. wouldn’t be proud of me, yet”.

He worried his lip between his lips for a while. What would she be proud off? She’d died when she was still only mum to him, a shining figure of comfort and warmth. She wasn’t a person with her own dreams and hopes and ambitions when he was that young, just Mum who kept smiling at him even as she wasted away. What would make her proud?

Going to the hospital in her final days would’ve made her proud. He’d been asked so many times to join his father and brother as they visited her but he kept saying no. He couldn’t see her like that, all those tubes and machines, the sterile smell clinging to everything like an infection. It had just been too much. He wanted to be 8 with his friends pretending to be superheroes in the playground, not 8 wishing his mum a good day knowing it could be her last day.

“Could…could you tell me more about being a musician, please? I’m- it’s just-“

“ your minds spiralling in on the last few days you had with them. All the could haves and should haves and the what ifs. I get it, Arisu.” Kyuma squeezed his hand again, letting out a small sniff of his own.

They get each other.

“ Getting on that stage is just…exhilarating. There’s nothing quite like it. You get on and they're cheering for you and your art, you have thousands of lights blaring at you and highlighting every imperfection, and your voice cracks at times but they still cheer and sing along. They love you and the rush is just… it’s amazing to share it.”

The rush sounded scary to Arisu. Having every imperfection highlighted was a terrifying thought. His father could already see so many within him… what more could the lights find? How full of flaws is he? But at the same time, the idea of people liking his art sounds good. It sounds fun. There are thousands of words in hundreds of languages that he could use to describe it but good works best.

“ is it that feeling for any crowd?” His questions felt hollow. Like they were being said by an underpaid interviewer but he hoped his genuine curiosity was found in his words

“Always. It could be one person or a billion, but I’ll always put my entire heart into that performance. A single person shouldn’t be punished with any less than the full experience just because they're alone.” A comforting pause drawled over them. Idly Arisu fiddled with the Kyuma's fingers like he used to fiddle with his depleted ds; it filled him with comfort and left him something to focus on. Slowly Kyuma started again, “Sometimes…Sometimes, however, I think I prefer the smaller crowds. Although I try not to make them so different, they are. With a crowd of billions, I can't stare into their eyes as I sing my lines that resonate deep into their hearts. But when there's a small audience in a bar all swaying to my friends' love, I can connect on that deeper level. They can see me and I can see them and we’re just a bunch of humans suffering but we’re suffering together and listening to some damn good music. It's nice.”

Airsu twirled the words around his brain for a while. He picked them apart, put them back together again, then tore them apart once more like the all-white jigsaw puzzle his father had brought him one year. Although unlike with that puzzle, he found no frustration when the words wouldn’t mould to how he wanted them to. Instead, he found a pleasant warmth settle in the pit of his stomach as he found more and more ways to interpret it.

He thinks he gets it now. The importance of what he has- of Karube and Chouta. He doesn’t need the people outside to like him- his billion audiences. Just the ones who he can connect with so deeply they feel equal, his pub. His people. His pride and joy. His hair was still a mess from him yanking at it, his nails have a thin coating of grime from the floor, and his arse looks like he fell in a muddy puddle, but he understands now. Holding a man suffering from laxative-induced diarrhoea hand wasn’t the solution to all his problems, but it sure did help. His heart felt lighter despite the confessions he’d made and his smile came back to his face easier.

Ultimately, he gave the man's hand a final squeeze before saying “My Names Ryohei, Ginji. It's been wonderful to meet you” and resolving to sit there and provide moral support until he wasn’t needed.