I stumble out of the bar onto the crowded streets. The mix of smog, smoke wafting out from the various other drinking holes of ill repute, and the streetlamps that dot the sidewalks like burning grave markers give the entire block a sort of macabre ghost town vibe. Not that it could faze me too much in this moment. I can’t hold my drink worth a damn. I don’t drink, but you don’t do the kind of thing that I’m about to do when you’re sober.

I spend what feels like an hour wandering in search of the steel death box that brought me here. The same kind that took her from me. Then I remember that I haven’t owned a car since. I scoff at myself and start walking. I don’t know where, home eludes my mind just like almost everything else. I had done too good of a job at pushing it all away that even my own name shies away from the drunken grasp of my attempted recollections.

It doesn’t matter, I don’t need it anymore, any of it. Soon it will all be free from me anyway. I don’t even notice the twin suns in my eyes at first. Funny thing is, all it took to rip me kicking and screaming back to sobriety was the car that rips through my body.

Damn, bastard beat me to it.

I feel gravity relinquish its hold on me and the wind gently stroke my face as if in goodbye. I had always liked the wind. I feel something else, but I don’t know what until I feel the ginger touch of the wind leave me as well. I had landed. I can’t feel anything, but I’m still alive.

If I was at all capable of it, I would laugh. A nightmarish and spiteful laugh, but a laugh all the same. Of course I’m alive. Trapped in a ruined and broken shell. I swear I hear someone’s voice, but they sound so far away. I hear it again, a little closer, but it may as well be from the other side of the world because I can’t have understood even if I cared to.

I scream as sensation returns to me, liquid fire in my body that burns me from the inside out like my blood has become napalm. The scream doesn’t sound like me anymore, and it makes me wonder if I’m truly the one in control or if something else has taken my place. The scream sounds like a soul has escaped hell only to be thrust right back into the fires of perdition. A call for mercy? Then I realize, I’m begging for death.

Some part of me shatters and I feel the apathy drain from me. I don’t want to die. I changed my mind. I beg whatever god will listen to help me. To take this pain away and give me another chance. I promise to do it right this time. I promise a thousand things, ways that I’ll do better if only given the chance. I feel molten tears prying themselves free from behind my eyes, escaping from the sinking ship that is my body.

And then it stops. All of it. I feel nothing. I see only darkness. The part of me that’s still semiconscious panics. Am I dead? Is this hell? Darkness gives way to light which gives way to sounds. I hear…beeping? Murmurs and whispers of distant people fill my ears, along with the occasional squeak of shoes on hard linoleum floors. I force open my eyes the rest of the way.

The light burns so much, but some part of me clings to that pain like a raft in a storm. The pain is good. It means it’s not too late. I try to move but the pain spreads from my eyes to my entire body. I writhe in pain and try to settle myself and just let the pain wash over me and dissipate naturally. It takes so long, but finally the pain recedes, and I can think again. I just wait and listen. I hear them, just beyond the door. But…somethings wrong. The murmurs, the whisper, they’re…different. I unconsciously shift to better listen, and then wince as I prepare myself for the painful consequences of movement. It doesn’t come. I move again. Nothing. No pain at all. No. No, no, no! I free myself from the bed, and rush into the bathroom, looking into the mirror before recoiling in abject horror.

No…

I see the flesh flay away from my skull. The muscle melts away too, dripping down onto the cold floor below. I watch as my eyes pop and splatter against the mirror, but I can still see. God help me, I can still see it all. I run towards the door to the room and try to pry it open but it’s locked from the outside. And then, I hear them again. The voices. They tell me to let them in, that they can help. That they will make it all like it used to be, better even. I feel the lock on the other side of the door turn and every part of me seizes in cold terror. I hold the door as hard as I can to the doorframe.

The voices get angry, they start screaming at me, DEMANDING to be let in. I feel the door buckle as an impossible force is thrown against it, again and again. I sob as my strength wavers. They’re calling my name now, telling me that it should have been me. I sob harder. They’re right. I never drank. Never. Until that night. It was so fast, I…I couldn’t react in time. She’s dead and it’s my fault. I fight against every instinct in me, and I force myself away from the door.

The handle turns ever so slowly as the door creaks open. I see nothing in the darkness beyond it, but I feel them all watching. It’s my fault, and it’s time that I paid the price. I step forward. Every step is harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. I feel what’s left of my body fighting me, trying so hard to force me in the other direction. Begging me not to do this. But it’s too late now. I reach the door and a single clawed hand reaches out to me from the darkness. I take it, and scream as it pulls me in.

She wishes she could talk, but how is that possible

she's the wordless inarticulate

Sounds are to dull

He appears from a nook

Something that wasn't actually there

From a shadow in the wall

Brown eyes and black messy hair

warm and thin, not quite tall

His smile came from the sun

But his mouth never moves, never changes

faithful to her like a nun

beautiful, understanding like an angel

Until she's to cold

Until she cant remember her name

Finally into the darkness she'll fold

And nobody can ever come get her to claim.

After

She doesn't remember anything. She could have been here for so long. Maybe centuries. Although she couldn't ever be truly down here forever because he had promised her that he'd find her.

She still remembers, thinks about him all the time. It hurts her heart, it aches to hard. Sometimes all she can do is curl up here, not having enough energy to continue searching. Hades must be laughing from the throne, she thought. Truly though, Hades is on his throne, trying to get Will down here. Throwing so many diseases so Angela won't be so cold. She doesn't know anything about it, or why. But fatherly love can go through every being, including Gods.

Will is fighting to survive, only if because she had asked him once upon a time to come down with epic stories. Stories full of sunshine and adventure, full of nights and songs. She had always wanted to see a wolf, and not the tame ones. The wild treacherous ones that attack if threatened. Will had been searching for the beach if only because she had asked, even if he fell off the edge of the earth first he'd still find a beach.

Hades tries though, throwing wolves at him, tsunami's thanks to Poseidon, storms from Zeus, broken and treacherous animals and creatures that should stay in the underworld, only, Will thought that she would love every new story. Although he wouldn't die from it. Not yet.

Setting eye on the sea for the first time he almost drowned, but there was a dolphin of whom he clung to tightly. He'd gone to the front line of a war he wasn't even in. He'd found Medusa and killed her, never peered at her though because then he'd be stuck forever. He couldn't afford forever. He'd sold it to another.

Will had fought a witch, a wizard, and a guard. He'd torn down a kingdom and built it all back up again. Maybe, he thought, some Gods loved him while others didn't. He'd crawled through torturous, hunted down the TARDIS and set eyes on a blue rose, a violet rose, and a violet/blue rose. It was in his pocket, and before it withered he'd have to die, so he could bring it to her forever. A promise fulfilled.

Hades actually won that day. He owed it all to a bullet and knife. Will traveled through as fast as he could. Across the Styx River, basically pushing it himself. He cut the line without anyone noticing. He appeared from random nooks in towns that you'd never believe. He traveled as fast as he ever could because the rose, it would wither. It would leave him before he found her.

Will had climbed through the castle without being seen by anyone but Hades, though Hades never let him know. He'd given the rose an immortality, although it shouldn't even be down here. Hades wished the child away to the stones of a broken wall. A wall taken down by a monster years ago.

Hades was always one for romance, like Aphrodite, but nobody cared to know because he was so dark. Nobody like the darkness, nobody really ever wanted to accept it until there was no other choice. And although it sometimes hurt it was ok because when they came down they realized how cruel that world up there had been. They realized how cruel words had been after they were taken away. Souls cannot talk though because there is no mouth, nothing physical until wished into existence.

Will looked, continuing to search, picking up stories on the way. Until he found the brown eyed, brown haired girl he'd always loved. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the rose. Even though he shouldn't be able to hold it he held it out, he didn't call out to her because she wouldn't be able to reply. So he appeared from a nook like he always had just for her because she loved it.

Her smile was so bright and beautiful he wanted to tell her the love he had, but she wouldn't understand, so he gave her the rose. And as it ripped through their fingers they smiled because even though there was pain, it wasn't supposed to be there. It meant something was keeping them alive, after death, and that was themselves. No it was each other. For all eternity will they hold the rose between them, the blended blue and violet rose, the beautiful rose to some, painful to the others. Just like the silence.

In the heart of the dense Evergreen Forest, where sunlight filtered through the lush canopy to dapple the forest floor, a tale of resilience and wonder unfolded.

Amidst the towering trees and the gentle rustle of leaves, a solitary figure moved with purpose. It was Evelyn, a young explorer with a spirit as wild as the untamed wilderness surrounding her. With each step, she breathed in the earthy scent of the forest, feeling a sense of belonging wash over her.

Evelyn's journey began at the break of dawn, her backpack laden with supplies and her heart filled with excitement. She had heard tales of the Evergreen Forest's beauty and mystery, and now, she was determined to experience it for herself.

As she ventured deeper into the forest, Evelyn marveled at the diversity of life that thrived within its embrace. Birds sang melodious tunes overhead, while small creatures scurried amongst the undergrowth, their presence a testament to the harmony of nature.

With the sun casting fleeting shadows upon the forest floor, Evelyn stumbled upon a hidden glade bathed in golden light. Here, amidst a carpet of vibrant wildflowers, she paused to take in the beauty that surrounded her. It was a tranquil moment, offering a peek into the timeless grandeur of the natural realm.

As the day wore on, Evelyn's journey led her to the banks of a crystal-clear stream that meandered through the heart of the forest. The water danced over smooth stones, its gentle melody a soothing balm to her weary soul. She dipped her hands into the cool waters, feeling a connection to the ancient rhythms of the earth.

With nightfall approaching, Evelyn sought shelter beneath the protective embrace of an ancient oak tree. Here, amidst the whispering leaves and the soft hoots of owls in the distance, she made camp for the night.

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, she felt a profound sense of gratitude for the beauty and tranquility that surrounded her.

As dawn broke over the forest, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, Evelyn rose from her makeshift bed and continued her journey.

She traversed winding paths and narrow ravines, her heart filled with a sense of wonder at the mysteries that lay hidden within the depths of the forest.

With each passing hour, Evelyn's bond with the forest deepened, her spirit entwined with the ancient rhythms of the natural world. She learned to read the language of the trees, to listen to the whispers of the wind, and to find solace in the quiet moments of solitude.

As she reached the edge of the forest, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, Evelyn paused to bid farewell to the wilderness that had captured her heart. Though her journey had come to an end, she knew that the memories of her time in the Evergreen Forest would stay with her forever, a testament to the enduring power of nature's embrace.

With a final glance back at the forest that had become her home, Evelyn turned and walked away, carrying with her the echoes of the Evergreen, a reminder of the magic that awaited those who dared to venture into the wild.

Day 1

A nice Monday morning, his request for a swap of patrol radius luckily accepted.

Okaze-- no longer an agent of the Matsukaza Agency-- had in that spirit made sure to don civilian attire.

And kept his distance within the delightful lawn of the apartment complex where the children could play or the teenagers make out or do their homework.

The perfect point to spot the subject of this log. Shibuya-- surname as of yet unknown-- throwing a single, frosty goodbye to the villainous Walking Death inside.

In the black and white spring semester uniform for a reputable public school costing a pretty penny. He snapped a quick photo from behind his newspaper.

All the news the same sequence of dull, dull, dull and boorish nothing news.

Shibuya was kept well at his peripheral, who it looked was eating a sorry breakfast of a single bagel. Some manner of box cumbering his hands to open the latch.

And then he startled upwards, the teenager with no warning changing course.

Okaze dove under cover of the comic pages, the Sports section unfortunately lost. The sheer tragedy that was.

He knew full well who had just crushed and mutilated the page underfoot, it was undeniable. Nevertheless he kept his cover.

Kept a steady hand and began to hum, lazily licking his finger to turn the page.

But Shibuya wasn't having it.

Forcing Okaze's attention when he shockingly ripped the whole thing in half.

And on his upturned expression a glare so cold and repulsed even his unassuming, unremarkable cobalt eyes looked to flicker some manner of malicious gleam. Something resembling red.

Okaze was shamed to record, Shibuya's simple, elegant cruelty struck him speechless. Made all manner of grim possibilities-- many bloody-- pass under his eyelids.

With no manner of acknowledgement, no manner of emotion at all he simply grumbled and strode past.

Then-- Shibuya had been spied on before? Tailed before. Then he should have been on file.

Yet observing the careless gait and slouch of his retreating back such a thing seems beneath his notice, an anomaly for someone his age unless...

Unless those who'd stumbled upon Shibuya No Name-- were well and truly dead.

Okaze couldn't stop shaking even as he kept quickly tear-filled eyes on the Room 4155 he'd been held captive in not three days ago.

Day 2

Okaze had foregone any means of concealing his face. He did amend his civilian guise to include a truly ridiculous sports hat, sporting the large and boisterous likeness of a sneering Obake mascot.

Concealing a unnaturally violet color and black length.

7:25.

Shibuya should, well, a student wishing to be on time should come out now.

Unless his brother owned a car? Surely nothing legal.

And perhaps that's why its a non-sequiter. Stalker or no.

Mr. Takeda had not killed him yet.

7:40.

Goodness where was he?

There'd been no disturbance of the residence. The walls could very well be sound proofed. A nefariously clever idea, and all too likely of the devastating Death that walked the city.

So that if Shibuya ever did cry for help-- then again he couldn't quite imagine-- Okaze smiled, feeling the expression wooden on his face, Shibuya would scream abuse and all manner of insult right back.

Of that he could be assured.

He meditated on the comforting idea.

For all of two seconds.

Shibuya!

The ghastly behaved boy had thrown a book at him this time but it didn't matter he was safe and by the looks unharmed. Otherwise he wouldn't so brazenly wear his usual short sleeved school issue clothes.

Once again an icy glare was the only sign Shibuya hadn't perhaps mistaken the strange bench dweller as some hobo or a trash can.

Okaze made a mental note to record the lettuce stuck just below his lip. And fingers coated in some honey brown condiment.

Before inspecting the item having clubbed his head by its sharp corner and now lay at his feet.

A white hardback book, with Shibuya's school's emblem and the title: School Honor Code and Conduct.

Flipping through the pages Okaze set his eyes to eagle vision, finding just a flash.

Code.

Anagrams or a veiled message from himself or the villain!

If it was it was no good code. Hardly usable as he'd circled all of Section Five, security protocols and repercussions in red.

Ohhh, he had circled all the punishments and repercussions in red.

Including, so helpfully lined by smugly smiling chestnut chibi, that school security was armed and permitted to use their tasers should student or staff endanger the property or student body, and the interventions for cases of stalking.

Day 3

Okaze was ready.

Well and ready for whatever Shibuya had planned to make him go away(?)

Force him to talk and spill(?)

That part wasn't as clear.

If he so loathed his presence that much he was certain it would be easy to point Takeda at him and so like the rabid animal he is the Death would comply.

Stiff and legs tucked, hands at his lap he mustered his most neutral expression.

From here he could tell how Shibuya's lip curled.

Alright, there was perhaps no intentional maltreatment or abuse to report in the home. That said, surely his needs as a dependent not-yet-of-age child should have been the responsibility of a friend or a family member, ideally someone paid and non-villainous.

The proof was in the pudding this was not exactly the most stable of, pudding.

Literal pudding.

In a custom crystal dessert plate.

His gaze was no less cold however not as-- revolted?

Okaze smiled.

Graciously taking the offered breakfast.

Too late did he consider either Shibuya had been asked or forced to poison the hero popping in everyday.

Day 4

Yesterday's ill form shall not be repeated.

Okaze swore it up and down.

He swore it from his bathroom mirror to the offending apartment lawn, that became quite the nice rest stop every morning. Until two when he was forced to move on if he wanted to hand in accurate safety and crime witness reports.

This time too, he decided to move position.

Apparently Thursdays and weekends Takeda presented for some job as a contract debugging and cybersecurity expert.

Rather than his normal perch in the sun near the exit, he kept to the shade and shadowed under the balcony of the building's two wings.

Shibuya, unabashedly, made a valiant ruckus.

Forcing out his brother who was done up in respectable work clothes, trying to get a word in only to be silenced efficaciously.

Okaze supposed, in a fondness so unexpectedly grown, this was the Shibuya in top form.

Now that still wasn't great. At fifteen, he'd hazard a guess it should be the older rushing the younger out for work on time.

And why go back inside?

By his watch-- a very good and dandy watch-- it was time for his school to start too.

Okaze remained, for just a few minutes, all senses turned to dog and primed for the archived scent of sweating leather and peppermint breath mint or the scuffing of pristine shoes.

Shibuya, Shibuya he quickly realized then and there never smelled the same any given day.

Because he smelled of whatever meal the brothers had that morning and the lunch the school served.

Just when he came out to the light, did Shibuya find the empty bench.

Though it would be the polite thing to do, Okaze realizes this would be important. He must see what the boy would do now.

His otherwise unaffected mood turned sour and mullishly grim.

Flinging his leftovers in an undignified heap.

The flier in his other hand he glared holes at before tossing in the can.

Okaze set to rectify this immediately, barely catching an angry Shibuya.

Who again, glared at Okaze's smile and the hand so they could formally meet.

At this point it was only decorum.

Else how could or what would he do but eat such a nicely made, heavenly tasting bok choi curry broth.

Day 5

So, coworkers had been asking questions.

His supervisor was getting testy.

That was an unexpected result since as evaluated everything was up to par.

All his paperwork and his patrol duty fulfilled with excellent evaluation across the board.

His supervisor recommended speaking to the designers and support team about some manner of sack or pocket to store food if that was what was needed. Or to the counselor if stress was eating away at his evening hours.

And his vacation days had been untouched for the two years he had formally begun work.

On yet another record, an incident report about a violet haired school boy:

"Did only the mandated time of psychotherapy despite the school and prosecution offering to pay at whatever plan decided upon by family and teachers."

Okaze diverted, only stopping briefly at the brothers' apartment, sticking the notice on the door of neighborhood watch hours. Including his work number to call in emergencies.

This time he perched in the air, eyes manifesting "Scan," on passerby and the coming traffic from intersection.

9:15.

Shibuya would be in just his first class.

Far as he'd known he attended and didn't make a habit of skipping.

"It's five, school is out, and I have no social life."

If he did skip there'd certainly be no place he was interested in going.

Which meant he would just meander before inevitably returning to his home.

12:55

His stomach growled.

The day had somehow been rougher than usual.

Seemed every goon and Henchmen United mob had decided to go out and paint the streets red that day.

And much of the town's underworld was tied with a single entity of bad guy.

So, this was his move.

And was that a threat?

Well if it was...

Then it was imperative that Shibuya be in the good mood and go anywhere else but the sight of imminent butt kicking for once.

Or he could throw some thousand yen at his face. He wondered what it said that the gremlin seemed the type.

Hungry as he was Okaze refused to let the train of thought pass him by, not while he had it.

And then the beam nearly clubbed him.

There was an adult man with horns and a lumbering build, lumbering, toward Okaze who had frantically leap away from the blow.

Oh and look at that behind him.

Seemed people did pick up the little brother on occasion. Who clapped at the goon, in a sardonic manner before sitting right there on the ground with his phone turned sideways.

By what the hero managed to see before squirreling out of there was that, possibly, he did what he liked around the house with his brother's full approval.

And bankrolled by bounty money turned into that night's meticulously planned cake.

Day 6

Saturday

After yesterday where there'd sure enough been a delightfully tart strawberry lemonade cake Okaze had really followed out of a growing inquiry.

Could he so trouble Shibuya and commission a birthday cake for his own mother.

Once he was sure the question would come: did his mother happen to be humiliatingly short or lanky and horse-like, oh and also be made up?

Safe to say it, Shibuya had been late to cram school that day.

And the older brother was in a charitable mood. If charitable meant laughing his buttocks off.

Day 7

It hadn't exactly struck him until now. Not from the beginning of this entire endeavor that had been systematically and maliciously proven for a farce, Shibuya truly had nowhere else to go.

What else could the answer be, when he sat here, beside Okaze and silently offered a bite of some sweet bread from a neighbor.

He'd seen how Shibuya that night had dismissed the woman in his usual sarcastic and disdainful ways.

That went so hatefully ignored. Or so Shibuya would insist upon that nosy old woman.

She was thirty try again.

Okaze didn't dare ask for how long he'd while away his time here. His very important time.

Each time he thought to ask he quickly shut his obtuse, obscene mouth.

He stayed well past his patrol that day, waiting with him until big brother got home.

Just when the idea had come, much too late, would Shibuya perhaps enjoy seeing his agency or a dance club.

He had only just opened his mouth, when Shibuya pulled Okaze by his high collar so he could see what he did.

Takeda frantic in his sultry, humid leather running for home.

Pulling him down to submission as he steamrolled by. His poor abused neck.