-- n u m b *

[Makoto]

"Ever since that day I knew something had changed... I was just unable to determine what exactly it was until today."

It had only been a few hours since the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. The night was still young, but it seemed that the street upon which Koto decided to take seat and relax was quickly becoming deserted. Those that remained were most likely on their way home, and you'd think that very same plan of action is one that the youth would soon follow, but you would be mistaken. Returning home was the last thing he wanted to do. His mother would still be awake, and she'd surely scold him for appearing battered and beaten like he did. He quickly learned not to go home after the first few times he got chewed out for getting into fights and having evidence on his face. It was unavoidable; he couldn't really replicate Bruce Lee's fight scenes.

However, Japan sucked. He wasn't sure if it was solely Akihabara, but everything commercial closed early. Even hospitals shut their doors as soon as it got dark! That meant he had nowhere to go, as most of his fights took place in the evening; it would just be plain reckless to stir up trouble during the day when there are several innocent bystanders around. For the remainder of the evening, after his fight(s), he usually sat down somewhere to drink and relax. One wonders where he obtains the alcohol, as Koto is several years underage and doesn't look a year older than he really is; when asked, he will simply respond with "I got it from a friend." It is the result of a pact made between a local shop owner and Koto: the owner agrees to sell alcohol to a minor, Koto agrees to keep his lips sealed. Koto took advantage of the fact the man said he was beginning to get tight on money given the dwindling Japanese economy, so in a way he was helping the man out while benefitting himself.

The liquid, indistinguishable from water, helped to dull the incessant throbbing that one tended to feel following a fight. For that reason Koto had discovered the answer to the question that had been plaguing him for several days: "What the hell is wrong with me?" One morning he woke up, and even though everything appeared to be as monotonous as ever, he could simply feel that something was off. Nobody ever feels anything during a fight until after, so Koto attributed his lack of pain to adrenaline. However, even in the "afterglow" he couldn't feel the consequences of the fight, even though he knew they were there: there was blood dripping onto the street from a gash in his left cheek at this very moment, the vision in his left eye had narrowed a bit, indicating that it was bruised, and his knuckles looked raw.

With a deep sigh the youth took a swig of vodka and stood up. Just because he didn't need to dull the pain anymore didn't mean he couldn't drink -- call it a tradition. He was already on his way to getting tipsy; he was feeling a bit light-headed and more inclined to talk, but the familiar warmth inside was missing. "I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to this..."

As he turned around with the intention of going into the alley behind him, he bumped into someone rather hard, something the lack of sensation contributed to. With the force Koto ran into the person they would either stumble back or get knocked onto their ass, after which he would apologize with an "Oops, sorry." before going to help them up should they have fallen down.

---

tags: open
theme: persona 3 ost: sound of the stereo
attire: dark grey slim-fitting jeans, black & white vans, white tee, and red & white zip-up hoody

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