Rebel Red Carnation {Kiribaku}

IX

In spite of the fact that he's removed all jewelry, put on the newly tattered clothes, patted on a bit of makeup to hide the scar on his eyelid, and stuffed his head into the wig that I have to adjust because there's a blatant lack of anything reflective in this alleyway, Eijirou still appears far too fucking pretty to be a slum dweller. It'll have to do, though, and as we head out of the alley, en route to the train station—him walking close to me with the excuse of wanting to be there in case I start to collapse, which I find questionable but don't argue it—I weave together a story.

"We'll just... say your family lost a bunch of stock or someshit and you ended up homeless recently."

"What do I say if I'm asked where my parents are?"

I have to rub my forehead again as if that'll erase the shitty fog that's settled over my thoughts. "Hm... maybe we'll just say I met you on my way back after I was punished for sneaking in and trying to steal shit, and decided to show you around. Can probably just say your parents are sick or something, and I figured you'd need to know the area. It'll give you a 'place to go'—" I air-quote "—once you leave and go back to your actual home that's like forty fucking storeys or someshit."

"Hey, it has to be big to fit all of the staff and guards," he defends. When I shoot him a look, though, he relents. "Yeah. You're right."

We only make it a few blocks before once again I feel as though I'm going to pass the fuck out and I have to lean against a nearby streetlamp, already switched on from how dark it's gotten in the time we wasted in that dirty alley. Sure, my wounds are clean and bandaged, which probably means the bleeding has slowed or even stopped, but that hardly means shit compared to all the blood I've already lost.

"Fuck," I pant. "...I'll be lucky if I make it to the damn station."

"If you can make it out to the main road, I can probably flag down a cab," he says.

"What, you bring a handful of cash or someshit?" I quip.

"Well, not a handful, but I stuck some in my wallet." He kneels down and paws through his pillowcase again until he finds it—black and leather, probably designer or someshit. He unzips it and sure enough, there's enough money in one of the pouches to feed all my friends and family down in the slums for a month, probably more.

"That's a fucking handful, you liar," I mutter.

"Whatever, man. It'll save you from having to walk, and then we'll get on the train and you can rest."

Rest. That one little word is enough to get me to stand up straight and push on. With these injuries the station still seems hundreds of miles away, but I make myself do it, the promise of rest being the only damn thing that motivates me.

Sure enough, Eijirou manages to wave down a cab and I have to admit I'm a little apprehensive; I've only been in a vehicle a few times in my entire life, and ever since I can remember my mother warned me to be wary of people I don't know inviting me into their cars. Still, it's either this or trying to struggle my way to the station in the increasingly cold weather with these shitty injuries, so I clench my jaw and climb into the backseat next to the prince.

Our disguise must work better than I thought, because the driver doesn't seem suspicious in the slightest. In fact, he seems a little leery of the fact that two guys who can't be older than twenty, wearing tattered, dirty clothes have slid into his car. Regardless, when Eijirou tosses a bill over the front seat to prove that we've got money to pay the fare, he takes off.

Instead of taking an hour or more to reach the train station on foot, we make it in a little under twenty minutes. It's fucking lucky, too, because there's hardly a hint of sunlight left in the sky. As much as I hate to admit it, had Eijirou not shown up, I probably would've bled to death in that shitty back alley...