Tragedies don’t make good bedtime stories

“Bullshit!”

My shout bounces off the computer screen as I barely conquer the urge to throw my controller at it. That’s probably the only way I can erase the shame of losing to Daisuke worse than Brazil against Germany.

“Another rematch?” he chuckles.

“I’m good for now. Maybe even forever.”

“C’mon. I’ll pick a half star team this time.”

“You could play blindfolded with your tongue and I still won’t score a goal.”

“Coward,” Daisuke smirks, getting up to unplug the console and stash it back into the closet. I follow him with my eyes, only to glimpse a neatly folded stack of jerseys peeking from under a hoodie.

“You really love football, don’t you?”

Daisuke snorts, “What kind of dumb question is that?”

“C’mon, it’s inoffensive.”

“I’d rather you hate crime me than ask if water is wet.”

“Touché,” I fall back on the bed, letting the soft, organic mattress swallow me. If I could go to sleep right here and now, I would, but I’m fairly sure I’d wake up the next day with an artfully drawn dick on my face. Instead, I roll over onto my side and scan his desk.

Nothing stands out, really. His textbooks are all a neat stack guarded by an army of stationery and a cordless, bulbless lamp – the closest we ever got to magic, glowing orbs. But, behind a small pot with a flowering cactus, there’s something out of place. Reaching across the small gap, too tired to walk the one step distance, I find a flipped down picture frame. A photo of Daisuke on his first day of middle school, holding hands with both of his –

“Where are your parents?”

Daisuke stops rummaging through his wardrobe. His shoulders stiffen up, the air between us growing taut with tension. “Osaka,” he answers simply.

“How so?”

“It’s where they live. Pretty nice place. I go there once a month on the weekends.”

I narrow my eyes, “But they never visit.”

“Sharp as always,” he sighs, closing the door to his wardrobe, then leaning against it. “It’s better that way. They don’t need any more worries.”

My heart skips a beat, sinks deep into my chest. When I first met Daisuke, I thought he was my antithesis. Simple, carefree, shallow and superficial. He seemed to care for little else than teasing me for his own twisted pleasure – but now, after I got to know him better, I was proven wrong. Funny how often that happens as of late.

“You think you’re a burden to them, don’t you?”

“Let’s not get into that right now,”Daisuke says. “It’s getting late. Tragedies don’t make good bedtime stories.”

“Don’t know about that,” I shrug my shoulders. “A sad sack of shit like me sure loves some company in his misery.”

He chuckles, a short, hollow puff, then bites his lips shut. Tightly, like he’s trapping something deep inside of him. A lifetime of suppressed pain is a tough bottle to open, after all. Lack of practice, force of habit. But in the end, everyone is desperate for someone to confide in. Someone who can take it. Someone who knows it better than anyone else. Someone like me and him.

“I don’t deserve my family,” he says, staring downcast out the window. “Mother hails from a clan of rulers; father from one of warriors and scholars. They married out of love, a rarity for their status, and had a son before long. A mediator. A great help. Daisuke, they called me, and I was meant to be unstoppable.

“I spoke my first word aged 4 – ‘Bukota’, my own surname. The doctors said dyslexia, hardly the hallmark of genius, not unlike the desire to kick a ball all day. In primary school, I asked to join the football team. Father –” Daisuke sighs “–agreed without question; mother bought me my first cleats. They loved me back then and love me even more now. However my aunts and uncles saw me for who I was – a moron through and through.

“Their smiles were all patronising, their eyes a perpetual roll. I was too young to know, my parents too proud to care. I wasn’t acing my classes, but I was winning regionals – and they couldn’t be happier. Or so I thought, at least.

“I woke up to pee one night and heard a weird noise down the hallway – mother’s soft, simmering sobs. Father received a letter from grandpa and it was all about me. What a disgrace I was. How I should be set straight, lest he disowns us all. They never told me about it – still haven’t to this day. Next morning, I quit the team. Haven’t played one match since.

“But the gossip never stopped; if anything, it got worse. I wasn’t a failure anymore; I was a coward. A wasteful bum. A dreamer of bad dreams. Were my parents too lenient? Too coddling? Too supportive? No. They were too perfect, while I was the fucking worst. Depression bit me soon after. I hid the wounds right away.

“Come high school, my grades skyrocketed. I started putting a lot more thought into my appearance, so I could carry myself with the dignity and poise my heritage demanded. I’ll tell you – it wasn’t easy. I’d grin from sunrise to sunset, then drench my pillow in tears because I felt like I wasn’t doing enough for my parents. Like I wasn’t enough. So long as I was around, I’d only bring them shame, sadness and misfortune. So, come my seventeenth birthday, I asked if I could move out.

“This house was the cheapest on the market – mother’s hourly wage, if that. She video calls once a week to ask me about life, whilst father sits behind her, looking around my room. As far as he’s aware, it's the cleanest place in the world. What lies underneath, though – that’s just my dirty secret. And now, it’s yours as well,” Daisuke lifts his head, resting his gaze at my feet. “Here’s hoping that you’ll keep it.”

As soon as he stops talking, I start towards him. Slow, careful and quiet – so that he doesn’t think for a second I’m coming to mock or judge. He’s had plenty of that already, enough to last him a lifetime. To make him into someone too good for his own good. Too strong, and yet too frail.

I wrap him in a tight embrace and he flinches at first, then melts into my arms. He’s heavy, all muscle, too heavy for me to hold up. But he doesn’t mind bringing me down with him, nor do I mind falling either. We laugh when we reach the floor and he touches his cheek to mine.

“Wanna know why I talked to you on the first day of school?” he whispers in my ear.

“Because you empathised with me?”

“I wish!” Daisuke scoffs. “That would’ve made me look so much better now.”

“Then?”

“You know how hot you look when you’re brooding?”

Reflexively, he tries to slip away, but I won’t let him run. He’s the first guy to make me blush and I will return the favour.

“How long have you had a crush on me?” I ask, ruffling his hair.

“For as long as I tried pushing you away.”

“I – don’t blame you, actually. I can only imagine the slurs you’d get called if you brought home a boy.”

“You’re so fucking unfair, you know that?” Daisuke moans. “Can’t tell a girl loves you when she literally says it out loud, and yet you’ve been reading me like a picture book all night.”

“You – heard that?”

“I was right there! But you were so focused on your phone you couldn’t be bothered looking one metre in front of you. Honestly…”

There’s a refreshing brattiness to his whining, a jealousy you only get if your feelings are honest and pure – and your concerns justified. But much as I’d like to let thoughts of Hinata, both bright and dark, roam freely through my head, not even an hour ago I asked him not to talk about her. A man of his word, he respected my wishes – and so, I will do the same for him.

I help him back to his feet, the tenderness of the moment consumed, but scraps of it still linger on our breath. Amicably, we separate, but as soon as we see each other’s faces, his flushes like a cherry. Makes sense, I suppose – he did just confess to me. But I never pegged him as someone who gets flustered from that much.

“Woah, look at the time,” Daisuke says, checking his watch. “Think I’ve kept you here long enough. Do you want me to walk you to the nearest station?”

Nor someone who can be so – normal. Not gonna lie, it’s really throwing me off.

I nervously scratch the back of my neck, “That’d be wonderful, thanks.”

“Okay then, I’ll go, get changed and – yeah. Be right back!” Daisuke dashes into the bathroom, smashing the door closed, only to flash it open right after, to hurl a heavy ball of jeans vaguely towards the laundry hamper. Good thing he’s not into basketball, because the shapeless mass of denim lands right on the basket’s lip, causing it to teeter off balance for a second, before it spills all of his sweaty clothes onto the carpet. A couple gym shorts and underwear, some shirts he wore to school and, hidden between a tan cardigan and a scratchy sweater – I spot the crimson vest.

A shiver courses through me, a jolt that snaps me back to a sombre reality. To think that I came here, heard him pour out his heart and fought back tears as he did – it all feels wrong, cheap, disingenuous. Sure, I care about it now – but that doesn’t change the fact that all I wanted to begin with was that worthless piece of linen.

Shakily, I walk up to it. Bend down, reach out, but my fingers stop before they can graze the hem. Am I – am I really going to do this? Am I really going to steal from Daisuke – the guy who stood by my side from day one, who always propped me up with kind words and compliments. Am I really going to betray his trust – and for the sake of the girl he unwillingly surrendered me to, no less?

Before I know it, the vest is in my hands and, hearing the faucet turn on, then off again, I make to leave. But one step in, guilt washes over me. Overpowers me. I drop the vest back into the pile, then flee the scene of my unfulfilled crime before Daisuke can see me. Sliding through the curtain, I stumble down the stairs, leap over the clutter in the kitchen, then all but kick the door off its hinges on the way out. Once on the street, I take in the cold air of the night. It stings. In my lungs and my eyes.

Ever thought about how you’re going to die?

Daisuke’s question plays inside my head as I dart across the street, the red light blinding me. I did. Plenty of times, I couldn’t sleep because I was worried that, much like him, I felt I would die miserable and alone. Abandoned by my father and my sister, and in turn abandoning everyone that I ever cared for and who ever cared for me.

Because that’s what I always do. When the going gets tough, and choices have to be made – I hesitate once, then twice and then, I run away.