1

28 4 1
                                    

.

.

00:52

He glanced at himself in the mirror. Same old face, not much different except for the weight loss. He had become painfully thin. He stared long enough to wince in disappointment. Your birthday's in 6 days. Hooray, Koutarou. He thought, smiling bitterly. He scoffed as he turned to face the mirror again. Then, he turned on the faucet, watching the water run for what felt like the longest 10 seconds. He splashed his face with the water from the clogged sink, not thinking about anything. Again and again. His face, hair, shirt, and chest were soaked.

"Fuck," he muttered, letting out a deep, almost loud sigh. "Wake the hell up, Koutarou." His eyes welled up with tears.

"What's this?" his mom burst into the room, holding an uncrumpled piece of paper. "Fucking hepatitis C. You see this shit? What kind of son am I raising now?! Are you fucking gay? On drugs? What? What?!"

Koutarou couldn't say anything. He didn't want to. If I can't reason with her, why should I tell the truth?

She rushed toward him, feet stomping, and grabbed Koutarou's cheeks aggressively, trying to force him to speak. "I gave birth to a monster like you. Hell, what problems are you giving me now?!" She laughed sarcastically, tears following. "Explain this shit. You stopped going to school for this?!" Then she lost it. Things were thrown, sheets messed up, and his bottle of beer ended up on the floor, broken glass drowning in its own liquor. Yet, he remained sitting in the same position, unfazed. Not a cell in his face moved.

He looked terrible—sick, pale, and thin. His once soft white-grey hair with black streaks now seemed washed out and dull. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was almost unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the vibrant person he used to be. His eyes, once bright and full of life, now looked hollow and tired.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the lifeless strands slip through his fingers. The weight of his situation pressed down on him, an ever-present burden that he couldn't shake off. He opened the mirror, which also served as a small cabinet, revealing DAA tablets for his Hep C and methadone for his heroin dependence.

"Methadone is a prescription opioid drug. Opioids interact with opioid receptors in the brain and bring about a range of responses, from feelings of pain relief to relaxation, pleasure and contentment," Bokuto murmured as he was researching about his own medication and uses. "Methadone is taken as a replacement for heroin and other opioids as part of treatment for dependence on these drugs." He continued.

He took one bottle at a time, swallowing one of each without bothering with clean water, just straight from the faucet. Each swallow was a struggle, not because he physically couldn't, but because the thoughts racing through his head were overwhelming. Eventually, he forced himself to swallow them down, grabbing onto the edge of the sink tightly. He sighed, closing the bathroom door behind him, leaving the sink blocked.

Sitting on the couch for about 5 minutes, he felt a quick vibration on his lower back. Realizing it was his phone, he reached for it without taking his eyes off the TV screen. On the lock screen, it said there was a message from 'a car sheesh'. He chuckled at the corny nickname and unlocked his phone.

20:14

a car sheesh: [Bokuto-san, are you free tomorrow?]

Bokuto: [Oh? Akaashiii!!!.]

20:16

Bokuto: [Yes, I am.]

a car sheesh: [I need to talk to you.]

Two Worlds Apart // BokuAkaWhere stories live. Discover now