[attr="class","sum-content"]
at the end of the school year, kamanosuke burns his living arrangements down. literally.
kamanosuke can't bear that school, this town, his face any longer, so he's decided his "one year of normalcy" is over. everyone around him— guardians, agents, managers, generally shitty adults are fucking celebrating with wine somewhere. he wants to burn them in the haze of his house, but he fought to live alone, so they're across town. maybe he regrets his decision; on the other hand, the privacy allowed for happy memories he would have never formed with the adults in his life breathing into his space.
although, after this, he doesn't think those memories will be pleasant to recollect. it's a fucking shame, too, since he wanted to cherish those memories forever.
he creates a concoction of flammable oils, fats, and anything else he can think of, throws it into a pot, turns the stove counter to high, and walks out the front door. from a distance away, he sits down on the pavement and waits. patience isn't his thing, but for this, he wants to relish every moment.
for what? a temporary catharsis? as though this pitiable, negligible act of rebellion will change anything. it's fucking useless. he can burn everything to high hell, and he'll still be locked in a poised, fancy cage. he'd rather light himself up as well— yet…
he doesn't want to die. he wants to fucking live. he remembers the dramas about spies and crime-bustin' detectives that he would watch secretively when his guardians were asleep. he always wanted to be just like them— going on missions, fighting bad guys, saving a city. it was all garbage and painfully untrue, and they lost their appeal after he acted in one of them. even so, he still has dreams outside of the acting career shoved down his throat. but he's not allowed any of them because he's everyone's "beautiful" fucking princess, and he has such a promising future ahead of him so don't ruin it, you ungrateful, worthless piece of shit.
he doesn't want to hear any more of that fucking bullshit. ungrateful. worthless. he makes more money than any of them, and don't even tell him that he owes all his success to them. like hell he does! he's the one with the talent— he's the one with the looks. they're all just leeches using him. if anything, they owe their success to him.
he grits his teeth.
wouldn't it be so fucking nice if hollywood suddenly burned to the ground?
it's not the first time he's thought of it, and the idea sounds more appealing every day. one of these days, he's going to drag the entire industry down with him, and he's going to relish every fucking moment of it. then, once it's all gone, he'll finally be free. he'll be able to do whatever the hell he wants, piss off whoever the hell he wants, and kiss whenever he fucking wants without his god-awful manager shouting in his ear about the trouble he's made by kissing "that boy where all your classmates can take pictures and fucking post on social media you dumb, spoiled brat—"
"i liked that kiss," he had said, "every fucking moment of it."
he kisses saizō again in front the entire damn school later on just to piss off his manager too. he can remember the utter hate etched onto his manager's face afterward. there were words that accompanied that memory— words that he wants to forget. they're like poison to him:
"he's just another part of your teenage rebellion. isn't that unfair, kamanosuke? isn't that unfair? you've led him to think you actually like him, but we both know otherwise, don't we?"
it's this poison that accompanied him when he pulled saizō aside and broke up with him. ( poison that deprives his brain of oxygen, and furthers his misery. )
"what the hell was i even to you, kamanosuke? did you even fucking care about me?"
that pained expression on saizō's face was like a final laugh by your ever more experienced friend and manager—
oh, look, he can smell something burning. he tilts his head up, half-expecting to hear the smoke alarms, but he fiddled with them a few days ago. they won't go off. as for the fire, it's barely begun. it isn't the blazing inferno in his mind yet. he can't even see any fire; it's just a touch of smokiness in the air. he tries to keep his focus, but knowing that he's in for at least another twenty minutes, he naturally lapses back into his thoughts.
his eyes close as he lets himself imagine saizō: his messy hair that he stubbornly refuses to maintain. his touch, whose roughness is the consequence of a dangerous mixture of inexperience and unearned confidence. his dark eyes that hold the feelings he will never record elsewhere.
slipped from the physical world.
someone waves at him, someone else is taking pictures of him.
saizō is not among them. for kamanosuke, he is not anywhere on this plane. saizō is in every crevice of his mind, though. but if he can only have saizō in a dream, he'd rather just forget him entirely.
love for the last time and then into the flames they may as well go. like everything else. like everything that hurts— like everything that is saizō— cast it away so only ash remains.
fall away, burn away.
finally, someone screams "fire" and kamanosuke's eyes open. around him, people react slowly at first, then realization, then panic. it suddenly grows louder than before, but it's all drowned out by the sound of the flames in front of him. he can feel the heat on his face. it's hot and uncomfortable. his lungs are choking from the smoke. breath feels laborious. his eyes sting. it's what he wants; what he needs. it's a disaster finally burning away. it's the only disaster that will burn away. it's—
"kamanosuke."
a euphoria of emotions.
"kamanosuke?"
the end of this tragic act.
"kamanosuke!"
a voice. a familiar voice.
wait, what?
he spins around— into saizō. he finds one arm strained, inconvenienced by a firm grip, but he's more caught up by the fact that saizō is halfway, awkwardly draped over him. their faces are so close that he could make out his reflection in saizō's eyes. he flinches when he feels saizō's other hand rest on his shoulder, holding him in place.
"i finally got your attention!" saizō says, his tone a mixture of frustration, lingering anger, and relief that kamanosuke can barely tell apart.
he immediately wants to fucking cry. he isn't emotionally prepared to deal with saizō yelling at him. fuck that, he isn't emotionally prepared to deal with saizō period.
of course, saizō doesn't know of that— or doesn't care— and continues, continues, as always. "hey, kamanosuke, why is your house burning down? and why don't you seem concerned at all? oh my god, kamanosuke, don't fucking tell me—"
saizō suddenly stops mid-sentence. he looks wide-eyed at kamanosuke.
"do continue," kamanosuke spits out and sniffles.
oh fuck, he really is crying, isn't he? furiously, he rubs the tears away with his free hand. he can't cry in front of saizō. not anymore. he threw away that privilege when he severed their relationship.
when he finally thinks his tears are clear, he steals a peek at saizō. he has a completely unreadable expression, but that just means saizō is resisting the urge to strangle him or something similar. kamanosuke feels like crying all over again, so he hides the urge behind his temper.
"didn't you fucking hear me, saizō?!" he snaps.
"yes, i heard you!"
he flinches when saizō raises his voice.
saizō must notice—how couldn't he when they're pressed against each other, arms straining around the other?—because he takes a deep breath and says in the calmest tone he can probably muster, "i'm calling the fire department. come on, kamanosuke. you're too close to the fire."
saizō finally releases his arm, although he still has one hand on his shoulder that he uses to pull him away. kamanosuke habitually moves to lean back into saizō, before realizing what he's doing. embarrassed, he jolts away from saizō, shrugging off his hand.
"they've probably already been called," he mutters, glaring at the disorganized clusters of people around them.
"yeah? then come on."
saizō turns away and starts walking down the street. kamanosuke is left confused, until he barks at him to hurry up. it leaves a scowl on kamanosuke's face as he runs after saizō.
"where are you going?" he asks once he catches up. "actually, better question: what are you doing here? didn't i make it clear to you that we're done?"
saizō doesn't answer either question, to his annoyance. he's completely ignoring him. kamanosuke doesn't have the patience to put up with— whatever mood saizō is in right now, so he snarls, "what the hell? you're the one who told me to follow you! so don't suddenly fall silent when it's most convenient for you!"
"do you ever stop to listen to yourself?" saizō grits.
kamanosuke sends him a miffed glare.
"you're deflecting," he accuses.
he doesn't know whether to count it a win or not when saizō doesn't answer, but he doesn't have the energy to interrogate him.
for the next few minutes, he stays quiet. he knows it's unusual for him, but he still feels a prick of irritation when saizō glances over his shoulder— as though he thinks it's impossible for kamanosuke to be quiet, so he must not be following anymore.
once they're a distance from kamanosuke's burning house, saizō stops at the small, mom-and-pop diner mr. yukimura's brother owned.
"so? what am i doing here?" kamanosuke demands the moment he settles into a seat.
saizō takes the seat opposing him.
"we need to talk."
he's really trying to stay calm around saizō. it's not an easy task. he doesn't know whether he wants to cry or scream. he never expected to be talking to saizō again. by the end of the week, he would leave town and preferably never come back. saizō left kamanosuke thinking kissing him was a mistake for two months. his track record doesn't paint him as someone willing to talk, so much as recede into his corner of brooding for petty-long amounts of time.
that saizō it sitting in front of, wanting to talk, completely reduces him to the sound of his heavy heartbeat.
"i didn't take you for the persistent ex type," he says, if only to alleviate the tension in his own body.
"i got it the first time, kamanosuke. i'm not here to try to win you back. i just want an answer to my question: did you care about me? or were you just using me?"
kamanosuke forces a laugh to conceal the sudden panic rising through his body at saizō's question. he thinks it's horribly unfair how saizō puts him in the spotlight, but he can't exactly blame him for wanting to know. it's the same thing he wants to know.
did he ever care about saizō, or was it like his manager said: just a rebellious phase? he looks to his heart for answers, but there is nothing but strife there. those days spent being delinquents in protest of adults and their numerous rules— he loves them all; cherishes each moment spent laughing and teasing. but maybe that's all they meant to him— a disobedience against the people that shackled him. everything— every moment— all in service to his desire of defiance.
saizō's face twists unpleasantly at his laughter, or maybe it's at the ensuing silence that he pursued to clear up in the first place.
"do you really have nothing to say?" saizō asks in a strained, quiet tone.
kamanosuke's heart nearly skips a beat when the table suddenly rattles loudly from underneath saizō's fist. dark eyes glare at him for naught a fraction of a second, but his mind is shot for several minutes afterward. he barely even processes saizō standing up and leaving.
when his mind finally catches up, the sound of the light bell that rings whenever the door opens echoes forlornly in his ears.
