Carry On Wayward Son
The pipes he was laying on were not the first thing that Izaki was aware of. Nor were the old, rusty bicycle frames his legs were caught in, or the rain drilling against the tin roof of the bicycle racks. It was the ache, the fact that his body felt like a giant bruise. Not unusual after a day at Suzuran, sure, but as the fog cleared from his mind he did notice the pipes, and the bikes, and the rain, as well as the worst headache he’d ever had in his life.
He lay there for a moment, letting the runoff from the rain soak into his shirt, swallowing blood and spit as he took account of his teeth - all there, thankfully. And he could feel his hands and his feet, even if he didn’t exactly have any desire to move them.
He had been beaten. Badly. He pushed himself up, his palms still slick with blood.
There were many good reasons to have chosen the junk alley to fight. It kept the opponent close, without limiting mobility too badly. And, of course, if one were beaten, it was easy to keep anyone from finding you until one was good and ready to be found.
That was the last thing Izaki needed right now.
There would be no stretchers this time, no swinging unconscious from a rope for who knows how long until someone found him and freaked out and nearly ruined everything. What Genji didn’t know could probably save Suzuran. The point, after all, had been to unite the school’s two biggest factions, not deepen the divisions between them.
This had been his last chance, his trump card, a dream - or nightmare - he’d set aside when he joined Genji and only now brought back to life now because it was needed. For so long he thought he’d been destined to fight Serizawa, and now, when all the hate and bad blood between them could be put to a constructive purpose, he failed.
Now it was up to Genji. Not that he couldn’t do it . . . somehow. He had managed it last time, had managed to miraculously impress and earn the admiration and respect of numerous people that had no logical reason to follow him, and somehow won. All it took was him, being himself.
Izaki wasn’t a miracle child. He liked reason, he liked it when things made sense. He liked careful plans, because anything else was too much of a gamble.
It didn’t take long for Izaki to convince himself that he lost because he couldn’t keep a cool head in that fight - but there was no need to beat himself up over that. The hits he had taken from Serizawa still throbbed enough to serve as a reminder of that failure.
Izaki sighed. Like obsessing over that would help. He pushed himself to his feet, one hand on a pole to steady himself - a memory returned to him of being pushed over it, of gripping it and trying to get back up. He pulled out his cell phone. The screen on the back was cracked, but he opened it and it lit up.
Texting cost too much, his parents couldn’t afford it, whatever the reason, he didn’t have it. He didn’t even really call anyone that much. Who did he need to call? Well, Genji now. The last person he wanted to talk to. The one who succeeded whenever he failed, but whatever jealousy or envy he felt was useless and he pushed it away (at least he told himself that was the name of the emotion making his chest tight, and no matter what it was it was useless and hopeless). He opened his contacts, scrolled down to Genji’s name (it was a short list), and pressed ‘dial.’
It rang once. I should hang up. I should never have called. He’s not stupid, he’ll know something happened. Why should he care if something happened? The others got beat up bad enough last night. Can you even talk, you idiot? Say something, now before you make a fool of yourself.
It rang again. Izaki looked at the ground, praying that Genji wouldn’t answer.
It made it through half of the third ring, before the other boy picked up. “It didn’t work,” Izaki said before Genji had a change to speak. “I’ve gotta get home.”
“Why? What was the plan?”
“No plan. Just a hunch. Didn’t pan out. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Izaki hung up before Genji could say anything else.
---
What Izaki did after a fight could only be described as hibernation. He could curl up in his room, or if he was very unlucky, in a hospital bed, and sleep until a reasonable degree of movement returned to his limbs or until he was hungry enough to not care. He would sleep off any injury or sickness in much the same way, including the beating he had taken from Tokaji earlier in the school year. He didn’t know if anyone actually came to visit him - why did that matter so much? - because he had been asleep for the better part of each day until the day before he was released.
But now that process was interrupted. It was impossible for any teenage boy to be a morning person, but once Izaki was awake, he would stay awake no matter how much he hated the thought of moving. Not so today. He was only aware of the fact that the lights had been turned on, and that his alarm was not going off. He had given himself plenty of time to recover, he was sure. Noon was early enough to get to school and figure out what he had missed . . . those complaints were discarded as unimportant as Izaki drifted away again.
“Izaki.” The lump on the bed didn’t move, except to turn over, wrapping his comforter more tightly around his body and over his head, blocking out the light. He hoped that would be the end of it, but after a few moments he felt the mattress shift and creak as his father sat down at the edge of his bed. His ribs ached at the sudden movement, but not as badly as the day before. There was a click and a quick hiss of fire, and then the familiar smell of smoke. “I guess you lost again,” his father said, after a long exhale.
Izaki didn’t move, but his fingers itched. He hadn’t had a cigarette since the day before, at school, and the desire for nicotine that had died down when he was asleep flared up again. “At least you didn’t have to go to the hospital this time,” he continued. “I never want to see another bill like that again. We almost had to dip into your tuition money, but your mother wouldn’t have any of that. She really wants you to graduate, even if it’s from a school like Suzuran.”
Because a school like Suzuran was somehow still a school. His father hadn’t graduated from high school, and it was only luck that he had inherited his store from an odd uncle. Izaki’s mother still worked part time to make ends meet, and with the economy where it was, even that was barely enough. Even if a diploma was from a school like Suzuran, it was a diploma and it meant a job somewhere. Maybe it could even mean college.
But that was a pipe dream, more impossible than Genji’s bid for head of Suzuran had been, more impossible than Serizawa holding down a job, more impossible than Makise getting a girl.
Actually, forget the last one. Izaki was sure he could pass the entrance exams, but less certain that he could scrape together the tuition money. Makise would never get laid, and Izaki would know that no matter how sleep deprived or drunk or hungover he was.
His father sighed again, and stretched. “I remember how you used to come home your freshman year. Hardly a day went by when you didn’t come home with a black eye, or worse. I’m just glad you didn’t get messed up in the Housen incident,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.
Izaki tried his best not to laugh - he was hopelessly entangled in it now, and he could hardly blame the freshmen now for wanting nothing to do with the war, just as he had when he was a freshman. But his father either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the silent laughter that made his shoulders shake.
“Anyways, the point is you would come home, sleep it off and be back to school the next day. Now it’s the second day that you’ve been home. I guess it’s not that big a deal to pick yourself up when you’re a small fry with next to nothing, but it’s a lot harder when you’ve got folks depending on you.”
That’s when his father slapped his leg - there was no excuse for it hurting like a bitch, but it did - and stood up. “You should know better than to try to sleep yourself into a coma after just one fight. So if you’re gonna be home, you’re gonna work. New shipment of drinks and such came in yesterday. Get dressed and help me stock them.”
Izaki didn’t move when his father left, fully awake now, but not ready to get up as he mulled over his father’s words. There was really no good reason anyone should depend on him. His track record was terrible - before Genji, he controlled his class and some underclassmen. He had earned Makise’s grudging respect, whatever that was worth, and the freshmen trio seemed to hold him in some sort of esteem. He would have been Serizawa’s only real rival if Genji hadn’t shown up. It was good, but it wasn’t extraordinary. Hardly a run worth mentioning in a long and bloody history of the same stories.
When he did join Genji, he was barely of any use besides adding numbers to GPS and sending Genji on some sort of angry rampage. He spent most of the time leading up to the confrontation between GPS and Serizawa’s fraction in the hospital. Now all he could do was sleep and hope Genji didn’t get jumped by Housen while he was busy recovering.
Izaki sat up and put his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a kink out of his neck. His body still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. He’d help unpack the drinks and then . . . then he would decide if he would be any use at Suzuran of if it would be better if he just went back to sleep.
He began brushing his teeth before he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything since a stale bagel that was past the sell by date the day before, and only because his stomach made a pathetic noise that couldn’t even be called a growl. He accidentally poured orange juice on his cereal, and decided it would be a bad day if it was starting out like his sister’s favorite children’s book. The ‘go back to school this afternoon’ option was not looking very promising.
It was nearly eight-thirty by the time Izaki finally stumbled down the stairs. “Put the apron on. And clothes that make you look like you don’t live at Hot Topic.” He turned around and walked back up. “And get all that gel out of your hair!”
It was nine before Izaki actually began working, wearing the black uniform apron and a plain gray shirt. He caught his reflection in the glass of the refrigerators, knowing he looked ridiculous with his limp hair and bandages on his hands and gauze pads on his face, but it was really the least of his worries. He knew he would regret it the moment he picked up the first case of beer to stack at the end of one of the aisles.
The work was not cathartic, and it did not go by quickly. Customers came in non-stop and his father stayed at the counter, leaving Izaki to do all the heavy lifting. Around nine fifteen his father left, getting a call from his mother that his sister was sick and needed to be picked up from school.
Almost as soon as his father left Murphy’s Law decided to have its way with him. The store was empty, and Izaki continued restocking the drinks until he heard the bell ring, indicating a new customer. Whoever it was didn’t seem too perturbed at the fact that no one was at the register, strolling slowly down the aisles with heavy steps. They would call for someone when they needed to be rung up, or better yet, they would just leave their money on the counter and leave. For Izaki, at the moment, that was the ideal.
One of the refrigerators opened at the end of the aisle. Izaki didn’t look up at the customer, so it took him a few moments to realize someone was staring at him. He looked up - Suzuran uniform, lanky frame - and Genji was staring at him.
Genji had a one track mind. Of course the first thing he’d see when he looked at him would be his injuries. Not just the bandages on his hands, or the squares of gauze on his face, but also how he favored his left side, the bruise on his jaw that already looked old and yellow. Things he would notice and use against an opponent without really thinking about it. Next he would see the uniform, the fact that he probably looked like a wet dog in an alley somewhere, and his eyes would widen in shock, and he would look away, thinking of something to say. He would settle on “Yo,” in a failed attempt to be as nonchalant as possible while holding a granola bar and a couple of energy drinks.
Izaki nodded in reply, stacking another case of beer. “Ohayo.” He paused before he picked up another and asked, “Do you need anything?”
Genji shook his head and glanced away. Izaki shrugged and continued his work, figuring that would be easier and more productive than waiting out what would no doubt be a very long, awkward silence. “How long have you worked here?” Genji finally asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.
“It’s my dad’s store.”
Of course the lull had to come when Genji came in. There was no one in the store, no one to walk in to ask for cigarettes. Only Genji staring at him and Izaki putting yet another case of beer in the fridge. Izaki could stand the silence, but Genji was dying for something, anything to happen to end the awkward exchange. “Has anything changed since yesterday?” Izaki asked, pausing in his work.
Genji’s expression was unreadable for once, and Izaki could only wait for the answer. He didn’t know how to quantify the change in his countenance, and didn’t know when he had started to lose the ability to read the other boy’s emotions, or when Genji learned how to hide them. “Not much,” he said finally.
Izaki nodded - what could he say to that? - and kept working. Genji shifted his weight from one foot to another a few more times, before finally the bell rang on the door, and Izaki had never been more relieved to have a customer, not even during the slowest, most boring days of vacation or the longest nights he had to work. He stacked one more box of beer and said, “Watch these for a minute,” before making his escape to the cash register.
And while he helped that nameless customer, he noticed the oddest thing. The door to the freezer opened and shut and opened again and the cases of beer began to disappear. When the customer left, Genji reappeared, his hands jammed into his pockets as he sauntered down the aisle, looking anywhere but at Izaki. “I have to get to school,” he said, setting his drinks on the counter.
“I figured,” Izaki sighed. You didn’t need to do that. I could have finished. You don’t need to fight my battles for me. I can carry my own weight. If he was such a good fighter, if he was the brains behind GPS, if he had any kind of strength, why did he keep messing up? Why did Genji think he needed help doing something as simple as restocking his family’s store? Irritation settled in his stomach, because it couldn’t be anger, not with Genji. He was just too . . . sincere to realize he was making a fool out of anyone. “Do you need anything else?” Izaki ignored how Genji’s cheeks suddenly went red, as the other boy pointed to a pack of cigarettes.
“Do you need a bag?” Genji shook his head. “Alright.” The silence was awkward and heavy and Izaki had to break it. “I should be back to school tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
“But what about-?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t-”
“It’s reciprocity. Just take it.” Because he couldn’t say it was a gift. And he wasn’t just paying him back.
Genji looked down at the drinks and the cigarettes and then back up at Izaki. “Because I can-” He seemed to decide against whatever he was going to say. He stuck the cigarettes in his pocket and grabbed the drinks, mumbling a “Thanks,” before escaping out of the store. He passed Izaki’s father, and bowed slightly before disappearing down the street as fast as his long legs could carry him.
“Who’s that?” the older man asked, taking his place behind the register as Izaki walked off towards the stairs.
“A friend from school.” Amazed that I have friends, aren’t you?
His father said nothing, just looked around the store for a moment to see if anything had changed in his domain while he had been gone. “Izaki, did you take a pack of-”
“I’m getting the money for them now.”
“You know I don’t want you smoking.”
“They weren’t for me.”
When he came back downstairs his father had turned on the radio and was lazily filling in a crossword puzzle. The voice fizzled and cracked in the empty silence of the shop. The drinks had been finished, but there were plenty of other things that needed to be done in the shop and Izaki stood back for a while, resting for a minute before he had to continue.
“. . . In other news, the Ryuseikai boss, Takiya Hideo, is in critical condition after his attempted murder last night by an unknown assailant. . . .”