Without Toppings

To you, Lycidas

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains themes and depictions on suicidal ideation, abuse, violence, and death. Reader discretion is advised.

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Lycidas   

I was six years old when I first hated my name.

It was a rainy afternoon in our old house in Nagoya. I was sitting on the floor with my picture book, tracing colors with my fingers, when Akashi — that genius boy who always smelled like dust and expensive pages — looked up from whatever thick novel he was reading.

"Do you even know what your name means?" he asked, one brow raised.

I looked up, not expecting the question. But I answered right away — because back then, I was proud of it.

"My dad gave it to me," I said, lifting my chin slightly. "He said it was a name meant for someone great. Someone people would remember."

And I believed him. I idolized him. If he said the sky was red, I'd look up and try to find it. If he said Lycidas meant greatness, then that name became my whole crown.

He smirked, the kind of smirk that knew something. "Lycidas is from a poem, you know. A really depressing one. It's about someone dying. Your name literally comes from a funeral."

"Eh?" Ayumi interrupted, knitting her brows. "Hontō ni?" (Really?)

Akashi scoffed, flipping his book closed like he was done humoring me.

"Lycidas is from Milton. It's a funeral poem. It's about a guy who dies young and never gets to become what he was supposed to be." He paused, eyes narrowing. "You know what that means? Your name literally stands for wasted potential."

Ayumi immediately stood up from coloring and went over to Akashi, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

"You shouldn't be saying that, Akashi! All those books you've read, yet you still can't grasp basic decency? Did your education skip over morality entirely?"

"Fuck's sake, stop being dramatic, Ayumi. I'm just pointing out the obvious — his name literally means death. Dying young. Losing potential." He leaned closer, voice dropping like a dagger. "It's literally a name meant for someone who doesn't make it."   

"Urusai!" (Shut up!) I snapped, slamming my picture book shut.   

Akashi raised his brows at me, amused. "Oh? Little Lycidas knows how to talk back now?"

"Yamero tteba!" (I said stop it!) I shouted, standing up. My fists were clenched. "Take it back!"

"Why should I? It's just the truth. Maybe your dad should've read the poem before naming you."

That was it.

I lunged at him.

We crashed to the floor, our tiny fists swinging more like slaps than punches, but the rage was real. Ayumi screamed for us to stop, trying to pull us apart as we rolled over crayons and papers. Akashi managed to push me back, but I caught the collar of his shirt and yanked it hard.

"Yamenasai!" (Stop that right now!)

A deep voice boomed from the hallway.

Both of us froze, breathing hard.

Akashi's father stood at the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed in silent judgment. And right behind him...

"Rishidasu! Nani shiterunda?!" (Lycidas! What are you doing?!)