KISS OR KILL?

So, that night you waited and waited until you heard most of the group shuffle away into their own respective areas, and you went out multiple times to gauge where the silver-haired thorn was located and if he was asleep, like you hoped. You had seen the man snore through scuffles and trainings and you were sure of it that once he was asleep, your secret getaway would be easy peasy.

You didn’t need a babysitter, damn it.

It wasn’t your fault that some of the bar dwellers of the male population had egos more fragile than a piece of wet toilet paper. Or that you had to beat them up in an alleyway not too far from the base to shake them off. What had your previous psychiatrist called it? Misplaced toxic masculinity? You scoffed at the thought again and shook your head.

Weaving through the hot crowd, you got stopped on the way to the bar by a girl with the most icy white hair you’d ever seen. It rivalled maybe even Slur’s. You remembered her from a few days ago, when the two of you had spent the night doing shots by the bar. It had been fun until your stupid (involuntary!) companion had gotten it in his head that it was time to go home, and you promptly forgot to ask for her name and number. You blamed that on Gaku, too.

She gave you a quick hug (you could already feel how clammy her skin was) and offered you a drink. Naturally, you couldn’t say no to free drinks and settled in on the stool next to her. It was more crowded than last week, and so you were awkwardly bumping shoulders with a stranger next to you.

The bar was rundown; it was one of those underground clubs with lights flickering everywhere and the walls stained with years, perhaps decades, of graffiti. They tried their best to spruce it up with colourful LED lights, but like you were on autopilot, you always scanned your surroundings more than the average person. One of the perks of the job.

The bartender was a cute guy; he showed dimples when he smiled and often had to run his hands through his hair to get the bangs out of his face. The specific community that drew you in was small, and therefore you often ran into the same people — people just as messed up and haunted as you were. You considered asking for his number too, one day. Maybe a little rendezvous with an exciting man was just what you needed.

He served your drinks quickly and smiled at your enthusiasm, though, a little voice in the back of your mind reminded you that he probably did that to any of his customers. You chatted with your new friend about music and boys and one drink became two, two became three. Before you knew it, you felt lightheaded and hot to the touch.

Now the night could really begin.

But just as you hopped off the bar stool (that had turned your behind to solid rock by now) and you were about to get on the dance floor, your new — still nameless — friend held you by the arm. “Hey, isn’t that the guy who’s always with you?”

Your head whipped around at the speed of light and sure enough, you peeped that infuriating partially slicked back hairdo at the end of the bar. His usual spot, where he usually just played away on his console while you scoffed at him and entertained yourself without so much as a word.

Usually, because there was no console in sight. Nor was he alone.

There was a girl chatting with him, or so it seemed. He didn’t seem to be saying much, but he was still listening anyway. Interesting. The last times you checked, his ears seemed to be full of cotton buds. Without thinking about it (if you had used your thinking skills wisely, you would have cheered and disappeared into the crowd, given as he was finally not paying attention to you for once), you stormed towards your… follower.

It didn’t take long for him to notice you, but it was still a few seconds too late, you fumed. “Hello,” you said (or spat, through clenched teeth), digging holes into his head and question marks into hers. “What in the world are you doing here?”

The boy regarded you coolly, though if you allowed yourself to be delusional, you’d almost think his pink (or were they red?) eyes lit up at the sight of you.

“You went out,” was his only answer, as if that sufficed.

“And why did you?”

“Because you went.”

You almost screeched there and then; did Slur really think you so incompetent as to have surveillance on you round the clock? How ridiculous. And insulting. And moreover, why was he getting friendly with other partygoers, then?

“Nevermind that,” you told him, trying to mask your annoyance, “you haven’t introduced me to your… friend.”

When he didn’t make any movement to do just that (seriously, did you have to do everything around here?) you stuck your hand out and plastered your best, practiced smile on your face. The girl looked as befuddled as you felt, looking between you and the handsome stranger like this was the part where one of you would start to feast on her very bones. Once the introductions were done, you turned to your problem again. “Mind if we had a word?”

He followed without complaint, lazily trudging after you. The exit was right behind his seat at the edge of the bar, the one spot where it wasn’t crowded enough to need to play bumper cars, so you were outside in no time. You took note of his lack of manners when he didn't even bother to excuse himself to his companion, and made a mental note that you would give him an earful for that too.

The outside air was cold, biting into your (mostly bare) skin. It had snowed overnight, painting the streets white and drinking in the lights of the neon bar sign.

Still, it didn’t seem to bother the burly fighter. He was only clad in a dark, baggy tracksuit, but you guessed that underneath that wasn’t much more than a skimpy top, if anything at all.

“I thought you were asleep when I left,” was the first thing you threw at him when the music was reduced to vague bass in the distance. “I specifically waited for you to be asleep before leaving.”

Gaku shrugged. “I woke up.”

“And?”

“Realised you snuck out. Knew where to find ya.”

You dragged your hands over your face in frustration, the warmth of your hands a welcome contrast to your cold skin, even if the rings on your hands were as cold as ice itself. “That doesn’t answer why you followed me. And if you are here to spy on me, I don’t think that works very effectively when you’re hanging onto some chick’s every word.”

Even you realised that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but you told yourself you needed to drive a point home.

There was the slightest tick in his forehead, so slightly you almost would have missed it; had the cold not sobered you up quickly, you likely would have.

“I could see you just fine from where I sat,” sounded his only answer.

Gawking at him, you were just a hair’s breath away from tugging your hair out. Or his, if you had to be so honest. “So you were watching me the whole time? While flirting with someone? You are a piece of work.”

The absolute gall of this man — no wonder you found him so intensely infuriating. Gaku, of course the epitome of innocent, furrowed his brows.

“Flirting?”

“That’s the part you took out of this?” you asked incredulously, “Don’t act stupid.”

“She just asked me about my clothes,” he mumbled and looked away. And he looked as disinterested as ever, but maybe it was the heat of the club, maybe it was you who hadn’t sobered up after all, or maybe the lighting of the sign above you; but it looked like his skin flushed, just the smallest bit. It promptly knocked all of the thoughts out of your mind.

You scraped your throat, trying to gather your wits again. “Gaku, she was giggling and twirling her hair. She was flirting with you. Idiot.” Not that you could blame her: even you had to admit that he was rather good looking and had a certain boyish charm you felt was rare.

Of course, that didn’t mean his charms worked on you. (You were pretty sure he hadn’t found out how to use them, either.)

When he looked at you with what seemed to be genuine confusion, you felt yourself soften. He truly hadn’t noticed, had he?

Well, now you just looked like an asshole.

For a few moments, you were quiet. You stared at the sign up above, reading “MANIAC LOVE” with the second A flickering on and off. You laughed inwardly at the irony of it all. Standing outside of a club wanting to chew this guy’s ears off just for the crime of talking to a girl (really, you ought to have been happy, as you hadn’t seen him be social outside of the organisation, ever). Either manic or maniac would certainly apply to you in this moment; maniac for feeling a slight tinge of jealousy over nothing, and manic for the fact that this was your third night out this week. Patterns, cycles.

Your exhale made a foggy cloud in the midnight air. You looked him over, noting how his hair was messier than usual and how his eyes seemed half lidded as they always did. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and didn’t look particularly bothered. Sometimes, you questioned if there were any thoughts in that brain at all.

“Listen,” you spoke finally, scrunching your face and sheepishly running your hand through your hair, “I know your boss thinks I’m a loose projectile, but I’ll behave,” you wondered to yourself if that part was true, “so you don’t have to keep watch, alright? I know; you all think I’m a giant fuck-up and whatnot, but I can handle myself. So just go back and sleep.”

It was silent for a while then, while the electricity whirred on in the background, and your ears focused on it like it needed something to hold on to. You were stirring in your own emotions, flashes of your fuck ups passing through your conscience like a high speed train knocking the wind out of you. You wished he’d just leave, before your mood swished around and turned on him instead, but he didn’t make any move to go.

“I don’t think that,” he said quietly, like he was still unsure of it himself, wondering what he really did think then, “Boss didn’t tell me to keep watch. He doesn’t do that anymore.”

As if, you think to yourself, but you didn’t say anything like it.

“Why are you here, then?” was what you opted for instead. Inquisitive. Trying to connect, as your old therapist would say. You always thought it was a load of crap, but you’ve since started using it as a crutch. To pretend. To cosplay as a functioning person.

But he didn’t answer, and when you looked at him, you almost thought he was avoiding your eyes on purpose. The tips of his ears coloured a rosy red, and you wondered if maybe he was cold. He didn’t look cold.

“Gaku?” you asked again when he remained quiet, looking up at the sky as if there was something to see there, like the light pollution didn’t cover up all the stars. You’d like to see the starry sky again someday. You wondered if Gaku did, too.

The boy (he insisted he was a man once, but you refused to admit to that) scraped his throat awkwardly. “I’m just looking out for you. In case anything happens.”

Buzzing. Whirring.

Your brain short circuited at this simple prospect. That of Gaku getting up on his own free will, having memorised your places, putting himself in a busy club not because of obligation, but because he wanted to. Strange. This couldn’t be right.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you said nothing. Instead, your limbs moved on their own, and you started walking. There was a restlessness in your bones and a metaphorical bear chasing you, and the only way to shake it off, was moving.

Gaku looked on for a moment in dazed confusion. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone only mildly more animated than usual, but clearly interested.

“Aren’t you coming?” you asked him in return, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, turning on your heels and walking backwards with your hair in the wind. “A club is no place for you to enjoy. If you want to spend time with me, there is an arcade up ahead that’s calling our names. All we gotta do is break in a little. You in?”