Chapter Text
He loathed the smile of his therapists.
The room clouded heavily, a smell of bitter coffee infiltrating his nostrils, unpleasantly.
The man sat before him, a leg hooked over the other. A ticking clock babbling in repetition, an endless ‘click’ that made the room spiral in numbers and sounds. A tight space, it wasn’t huge, it was quaint.
Therapy, once biweekly, a routine that zipped by. A man with fiery colored hair, tied up and brushed over his face, his jaw nicely cut. The faintest of scars on his left cheek, the skin healed long ago. His eyebrows shaped symmetrical, but otherwise wildly. His eyes bright, far too wide for the mood of the session, a red and orange color glinted in them, unique for this world. To top it off, it was that smile, that damn smile—-wide and cheerful as if he wasn’t dealing with some edgy hormonal teenager, one that that glared at him each session.
The man cleared his throat, glancing to the clock once again. Their sessions limited with the typical sixty minute mark, often times dismissed early from the inevitable evasion of the teenager. Genya Shinazugawa, a ‘misguided’ labeled boy, uncomfortably seated in the man’s chair, the furniture stiffly cramping up his long legs. Knees pulled up, an attempt to lean back, though the table settled between them blocked him.
“So, Genya!” The man started, his voice teetering between a roar and a chirp. “do you ever think about a specific memory? Something that stays with you, something that crosses your mind often?”
Genya grimaced, finding his question painfully stupid, it was an attempt to fill the lingering silence of an unwilling patient. That bitter smell of coffee pulsed within his skull, seeping into the cavities of his brain, enough to cause a headache. “Not really.”
‘Mr. Rengoku’ nodded pensively, his smile widening nearly too joyful about his reply. “Hmm!” He hummed, “It’s okay if you don’t have one. But sometimes, memories can help us understand why we react the way we do. Just curious.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The man didn’t falter, he never did. The corners of his mouth twitched, tugging into a bigger grin. Entirely too forced, though he could tell he was masking just a hint of genuine amusement. It had to be scrutinizing, the adults always did that, strangely peered at him like he was a feral kitten, full of pity and curiosity.
“I just think it’s important to be in touch with those memories, even if they’re tough. You’re here for a reason, Genya. I want to help, that’s all.”
He’s sure it’s the script of any other therapist. Another attempt to pick him apart, open himself up just for them to nod like idiots, pointing out his flaws, why he was the way he is- why he makes mistakes- why he snaps. “Help?” He innocently inquired, “With what, exactly? What’s there to help?”
The man tapped on his notebook, “Maybe just to make things a little easier. To help you see things differently.”
And Genya couldn’t help it, he rolled his eyes painfully unamused. What bright colors would he begin to see? The sky remained that murky blue, his mornings were an annoying obstacle, and his evenings worse. His routine frequented a hindrance, the gloomy shade of his world. The muted colors of his home, the occasional shout or crashing vase, children bickering and giggling behind muffled walls.
“Yeah, sure.” He dismissed, waving a hand over, “I’ll just magically see everything differently. Like flipping a switch.”
The coffee cup remained untouched, the smell still overwhelming the room. Genya could barely hear Kyojuro from his seat, chatting away like an animated toon character. “—-ize. But it starts with letting yourself feel.”
“Feeling’s overrated.”
Rengoku clicked his tongue, nodding his head from side to side. “Maybe. But feeling is how you start to heal.”
“Healing’s for people who don’t know how to survive.” He casually snapped.
The clock clicked again, a repetitive ‘tick tick tick tick’, one after another turning louder after another. The room only seemed to get more crowded, that bitter scent of coffee swirled around him. There was a table settled between them, tilted a few mere inches to the side——not in the slightest perfect. Something about it itched at Genya, a phantom craving climbing from his throat- and he’s sure that- there’s a pleasant distraction that could have satisfied that urge.
Genya glanced to the clock, his foot tapping insistently. Cold, too cold, and long, too long. The clock barely twitched an inch, and this session was prolonging its awkwardness. Rengoku spoke again, leaning back on his seat.“Surviving is important too, but healing lets you live.”
“Maybe living isn’t that great either.”
Genya bit back his words, the admission flared an unstable tremble in his chest. Regret flooded him, but he remained still, glancing to the man searching for any signs of concern. It was a mistake to say something so risky, a therapist would likely shove him into some mental institution—-but—Rengoku didn’t flinch, he somberly nodded again, considering his next actions.
Instead of writing in his notes, he closed the journal interlocking his hands together, “But you’re still here. That counts for something, right?”
Slightly relieved, Genya stiffly breathed out, “Yeah. Here.”
“One step at a time, Genya. That’s all.”
“One step. . .whatever.” He shrugged back.
The man chuckled, still entertained by the teen’s general attitude. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
The room remained misty, that bitter smell flummoxed his senses. A bitter, steel scent of black coffee.
Rengoku smiled at him, like any other adult usually would, and Genya—loathed the smile of his therapist.
[•••]
A murky shade of blue, darker and muted blending in together; the distant sun hidden behind those gray clouds looming over the town so slowly.
Genya walked out of the building with his usual scowl, unimpressed by the hour he was forced to commit to. The town buzzed with life, cars zooming down the street, vandalizes street signs ignored despite their commands. A dark aroma lured him out, the ashy cigarette trail filled him with a pleasant shiver, familiar with the effects of a tool so distracting.
A dark car with jagged wounds spread across the car doors remained parked in front of him. Illuminated by a flickering lamppost, his sibling seated in the drivers seat leaned back. Genya swallowed, his hands stuffed into his pockets, one hand fumbling with the pack of gum he replaced hours ago. There was no incentive for him to enjoy the drive home, and regardless he approached the door opening it with a grunt.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Genya muttered, settling in the passenger side.
Sanemi shifted the gear, the car purred after the headlights brightening the dimming road. “Don’t thank me. Ma made me.”
Hm.
Genya shifted, already knowing the seat was wrong. It was too far forward, the headrest sunk in, his legs cramped up—someone else had been here. He absently reached to the side, tugging the small pedal, stealing a glance to his older brother. Sanemi, casually driving with a single hand on the wheel, his eye-leads lowered with an easy to recognize exhaustion. His clothes wrinkled, the buttons of his dress shirt opened up almost skimpily, his toned chest opened for the world to see after a long shift at the mechanics.
Genya looked away, “Yeah, figures.”
“How was it?”
“Same shit.” No surprise there, Genya shrugged it off eyeing the passing street signs, trees pulling in the opposite direction, the sun dipping lower into oblivion. The car had that ‘new’ smell to it, neatly tidied up by the only women who cared about them. “He asks stupid questions, I give stupid answers, and we both pretend it’s productive.”
Sanemi clicked his tongue, removing his foot from the gas. “Sounds about right. They still think talkin’ about your feelings is gonna fix you?”
The car decreases its speed, coming to a slow stop by the blurry red of a stoplight. The round illumination nearly glaring, an annoying color painting them wildly.
“Guess so.” They never spoke about the real issue, they struggled to touch the root of the issue. If it weren’t for the courts, or maybe the pill bottle rolled on the floor-he wouldn’t be here. Then again, it was the strange fascination that allured him, he couldn’t recall why that memory brought him comfort— it shouldn’t- but it did. The light switched green, the car thrusting forward immediately, “. . .He asked if there was a memory I think about a lot.”
“And?”
“And I told him no.”
They turned to the left, the car growled in reluctance. Sanemi slightly frowned but didn’t immediately respond.
Two more stop signs, and he finally spoke again. “Bet that’s a fuckin’ lie.”
Genya’s lip twitched, but he stayed quiet.
The road grew broad, near to the bridge he frequented often. A broken thing it was, vandalized, and slightly chipped on the old cement, but otherwise useful. Descending beneath the shitty thing, was an almost dried lake, the water not deep enough to break anyone’s fall, the ripples a dark ugly brown color, dirty and useless. Genya’s eyes wandered over, eyeing it once again, his gaze catching a figure crossing the street, away from the bridge.
The car conveniently slowed again, a stop sign allowing him to judge from afar. It was a bit, shorter than him, a hood draped over his head—muted colors of green and black. His pants cuffed with thick socks peeking out of his worn sneakers. As if feeling his gaze, the boy lifted his head, a glint showing just a glimpse of his dark red eyes- or were they pink? The gaze locked with his, nearly curiously, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed him too.
Genya blinked.
The car rolled ahead, an empty road gracing its presence.
“What’re you lookin’ at?”
Genya shook his head, “Nothin’.”