I’ll make sure he stays like this forever

I’m pretty good at dealing with guys. I think.

I’m not a mindreader or anything, I just learnt a thing or two after being confessed to ever since I started growing boobs. Not that they matter, for the record. Dad’s blue eyes and mom’s porcelain skin do most of the heavy lifting. Then again, drunken salarymen have been slapping my ass before I even had anything to slap – side-effect of spending your middle school moonlighting at crummy izakaya to make ends meet.

Okay, getting sidetracked. Point is, I get a lot of unwanted male gaze. And when you’re a bookish type with a bunch of compulsive anxieties, you kinda start building walls on top of your walls.

Now, I don’t wanna be one of those girls who makes sweeping statements about men – but they really care about appearances. Don’t get me wrong, I love my bob and bangs and nothing will make me stop wearing glasses, comfy shorts and long (and super twirly) skirts. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t chosen this look because I knew it’d kill more boners than a gay kiss.

Granted, some of them are personality-oriented. Which is perfect, I’m a westaboo nerd, no better filter in our beloved country. Add a Cerberus bestie, a dash of manic pixie bitch and an amount of pretentiousness that’s only a perk if you’re insanely hot and you have my recipe to stay single forever.

But say you still want to eat this cake (metaphor, not euphemism). The gawky exterior and the undiagnosed bipolar interior haven’t turned you off. Then, well – you get the Hinata. The one that’s not just a curated collection of unattractive traits. Not that the core is anything to write home about. Just your average sad and needy teenager with severe trust issues. Par for the leftover course, really.

Which begs the question – what’s Yui’s deal then? Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe she’s a character I’ve made up, or maybe she’s all my suppressed desires given an identity. Or maybe she’s the real me and Hinata is the fake. That would explain so much, but I’m too tired to open that mind-shattering can of worms right now.

Because always wearing a mask, always being guarded, always worrying about this and that – it’s exhausting. And sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to do any of that. I wish I could relax. Be just a little bit vulnerable. But unfortunately, that’s how mistakes happen and you end up carrying a very cute, heavily sedated boy through the sewers, all the while your ‘uncle’ walks besides you doing –

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask Kisaki, who’s been fiddling with Luca’s phone for the past fifteen minutes without managing to even turn it on.

“What does it look like?”

“Failing to plant a bug. Also showing your age.”

“Well in my defence, the last time I had to do this, phones had a lot more buttons,” he claps back in that calm tone no one seems to believe capable of snark. Guess he saves that all for me, his precocious little protegee.

I groan, partly at his quip, mostly because Luca’s been sliding off my back for a while now and it’s starting to get painful. In more ways than one, seeing how I can smell him (bay leaves, summer rain, boy sweat) more than the literal tons of shit around us. And with his ahem, toned arm brushing limply against my chest – let’s just say I’m happy you can’t see blush in the dark.

“In that case,” I clear the knots in my throat, “why don’t we switch stations?”

“Nah, think we’re good,” Kisaki replies, as the screen lights up with a developer console. “Consider this your workout for today. And your punishment.”

“Oh, come on! Hasn’t Oyama been enough with all those,” I shudder, “embarrassing questions?”

The memory of him grilling me about Luca plays back in my head. Countless variations of ‘What do you think about him?’ and ‘Why did you let him see your face?’ all asked with that know-it-all, shit-eating grin. Because of course the answer was obvious.

He seemed genuinely cool with me and I got excited. Then I got really scared and the rest is history.

“No,” Kisaki says. “Aniki scolded you for being reckless. I’m doing it because you dragged me into your mess. Again.”

“Yeah, well!” I flare up, only to puff out a sad sigh. “Sorry. I just – didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m aware. But that doesn’t change how I feel about all of this.”

I bite my lip. I imagine the weariness in his voice comes from having to travel these stinky tunnels for the infinitieth time now. But part of me can’t help worrying that he’s slowly getting fed up with fixing my blunders.

“Sorry,” I mutter again, when I should’ve said, “Thank you for putting up with me for so long.” Would’ve helped with the awkward silence.

We keep to our route, heading uptown. The constant shaking from cars and trains passing overhead quiets down. Streetlamps and shiny billboards become clean moonlight, drizzling in through drain grates alongside the soft echoes of the wind. Rank stench and rats skittering aside, this place really helps with cooling your head after a long day. If things were different, I wouldn’t mind contemplating my life’s decision in here a while longer. But with Luca slowly turning me into Quasimodo, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for Kisaki to finally stop by a ladder.

He tests the rungs with a strong tug, then turns to me, and though I can’t see it, I feel compassion in his gaze as he sizes me up. With a shake of the head, he walks up to me and relieves me of my 80kg ‘backpack’, then plops Luca on his shoulders, fireman style. In exchange, I get the phone and the little flash drive.

A smile dawns on my face, “So much for being punished, huh?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Kisaki stoically replies. “It would look weird if people saw you carrying him, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure. It’s not because you couldn’t guess the passcode.”

“Little column A, little column B.”

I grab Luca’s thumb and press it against the home button. The screen unlocks right away, illuminating Kisaki’s annoyed frown and my smug smirk.

“Show off,” he grumbles, starting up the ladder at record speed. With a giggle, I follow right after.

We emerge in a slice of Chiba I don’t get to visit too often. Not that I’m complaining. Not too keen on the residential strip just north of school – too many acquaintances living here. Luckily, they’re all the high-strung go-getter types that spend their evenings cramming for admission exams rather than wandering the neighbourhood, searching cheap thrills or meaning.

Relieved, I stretch until my spine gives a satisfying crack. “So, where are we dropping him off?”

“At his doorstep.”

“How old school.”

“Sends a message,” Kisaki shrugs. “Besides, I don’t know when he’ll wake up. Figured you’d like to know him safe until then.”

I pause, shrinking into the cold of the night. “Yeah… until then, at least.”

Booting up Luca’s maps app, I find his home address to be pretty close – a couple blocks west, in the more upscale part of our ward. Fitting for someone with all the combat skills in the world, yet not a lick of street smarts. Though not even those can save you when a kingpin tries to enlist your services.

I’ll never forget Luca’s face when Oyama dropped the bomb on him. It was everything – shock, anger, despair, disgust. Right away, he understood what declining his offer would mean, how it wasn’t a proposition as much as an imposition. Replete with caveats, because my face is a secret you can’t know until you earn your stripes. And revealing it is never my fault. It’s the mistake of those who dared to see and remember it. And they’ll bear all the burdens, while I’ll hoard all the blame.

As Oyama listed off all the requirements for Luca’s admission into the Red Mountains, I could do nothing but nod along. I was complicit in this and the guilt made me seize up, more and more as I found out about how he would have to be kept under strict surveillance, his every activity watched until he proved his loyalty to us. But what really broke me was Oyama’s last words to Luca, before he ordered Kisaki to put him under again.

“So,” he asked, “what will it be?”

“Don’t really have a choice now, do I?” Luca replied.

And when I saw how destroyed he looked, how shattered he sounded – I decided that I’ll right my own wrongs for once.

We don’t run into anyone on our way to Luca’s home and, when we arrive, we find the lights off and the gate unlocked. Careful, I follow Kisaki down the alleyway, keeping watch as he lays him down on the welcome mat. His uniform is dirty and dishevelled, dried drool crusts the corners of his mouth and the moisture has made his hair even frizzier, if that could even be possible. And seeing him like this, passed out on his porch, I can almost forget how much trouble he’s been and will be put through. He’s peaceful and unbothered and I’ll make sure he stays like this forever.

“What are you doing?” Kisaki asks as I crouch beside Luca.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Overstepping your boundaries. Also upsetting aniki.”

“As if. You think he can even get madder?”

“Do you really want to find that out?”

“Not gonna lie,” I say, just as I finish texting my number from Luca’s phone. “I can’t say I care much about what he thinks of me right now.”

I feel Kisaki glaring at me with a mixture of frustration and compassion I’ve grown used to over the years. “You know – he’s always had your best interest at heart. Your mother –“

“– is thankful to still be alive. And so am I. But this doesn’t make him a good person. Doesn’t excuse what he did and still does.”

“I never said it should. But,” he exhales, mellowing his tone, “what did you expect, Hinata? You brought him a perfect asset just when we started expanding.”

Our contact info exchanged, I slide the phone back in Luca’s pocket, “I thought he’d at least give him a choice. A real one. Not like the one he gave me.”

Kisaki takes a deep breath. Though he doesn’t come out and say it, I know he understands me better than anyone could. But he hasn’t been Oyama’s right hand for this long because of his honesty.

“We’re done here,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

I nod. I lean to cup Luca’s cheek, an apology and a goodbye, then straighten up and leave.

Ever the overprotective kind, Kisaki insists on escorting me back home and I relent because I’m too tired to argue. Besides, he always pats my head whenever we split up amicably, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t enjoy that. And tonight, I need it more than ever.

Because there’s something special about the way he combs through my hair. It’s not just the heavenly feel of unconditional affection, it’s what it means. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone in this. That things will be alright and that he’ll help me out. And even if that warmth fades as soon as he waves me off and vanishes into the darkness of my rundown street, I still hold onto a wisp of hope that tomorrow will be better.

As I crawl up the stairs leading to my flat, I open LINE and click on the last conversation.

Luca (23:43): Hullo.

Now, I know I wrote this text. And I know there’s every chance that he’ll never talk to me again after today and that he 100% hates me. But I made a promise to myself. And even if I feel like nothing I can say or do will patch things up between us, I have a duty to try.

Only for my fingers to hover over the keyboard, unable to compose any semblance of a reply. Because who would’ve thought that spending a lifetime rebuffing guys would make it hard to approach them?