Cross My Borders

Title : Cross My Borders (1/2)
Author : Arlyn Jayde
E-mail : atomichatred82@lycos.com
Rating : NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing : Naoki Jo/Shugo Urabe, implied Masami Shibaki/Haruya Sakurai
Archive : Battle School, anyone else ask first
Spoilers : Not really. Takes place before the events in Battle Royale 2
Disclaimer : Don’t know them, don’t own them, don’t sue me.
Summary : Sometimes you find friends in the unlikeliest places.
Author’s Note : Bear with me. This one’s a long son-of-a-bitch. Oh, and Cuts fans? Don’t kill me. Please. This is all fiction anyway. And I’m crazy.
Warning : Graphic depictions of m/m sex between underage characters, substance abuse, massive amounts of cursing, and other things that might squick you. Proceed at your own risk.


I ain’t as beautiful as you
Things ain’t always well
I ain’t as clever as I seem
Things ain’t always well

In spite of the fact that I ain’t noticed in a crowd
In spite of the fact that I am learning every day
I know it ain’t all that, I know that ain’t all that
If I look the right direction

In my mind, in the castle where I am the king
I would build up my arms
Until I cross my borders to conquer the world
On a one way crusade

“In Spite Of” – Saybia

-----------------

“And make you sure you get each and every one of them clean, Jo, or I’ll make you do it all over again!”

With that, Takeuchi walked out of the boys’ toilet and slammed the door, not even bothering to hide his frustration as he left Naoki Jo standing inside, armed with a bucket and a mop. Naoki smiled sardonically despite himself—getting Takeuchi all riled up like that was a specialty of the Shubultz Cuts, and it was good to know he still had it in him, after all it had been quite a while since the last time he got this sort of punishment from the class teacher.

It was nothing new of course—nearly everybody in Shikanotoride had their share of disciplinary problems, the Cuts pretty much running the forefront, and punishments such as cleaning the toilet or scrubbing away the graffiti from the walls were an everyday occurrence. Kurosawa was probably the one with the longest record of having to do these sorts of stupid chores—he had a short fuse and a penchant for mouthing off, even towards the teachers, especially Takeuchi, and Naoki had a feeling their teacher devised these punishments simply because he didn’t have the balls to actually lash out and strike someone like Kurosawa, who was intimidating even for his age.

Not that Takeuchi would ever admit that he was actually intimidated by any of his students, but Naoki and the rest of the Cuts knew better.

Tetsu, Nanami and Maezono had also had their share of punishments, Maezono perhaps with the least number of infractions since he was by far the quietest of the bunch. Naoki wasn’t really counting, but he figured he was at least somewhere in the middle, for everything ranging from being caught smoking in class, fighting, bullying the nerds and other people he found annoying, your everyday mix of juvenile delinquency.

This time it was because he was just down on his luck. Takeuchi had decided on a whim to search through the student’s bags, and it just so happened that Naoki was carrying a few copies of porn magazines he’d intended to share with his gang after school that day. Of course, he hadn’t been embarrassed at all when Takeuchi found them, held them aloft and announced his ‘moral deficiency’ to the whole class—most of them didn’t even blink, save for those really naïve, silly girls who gasped and closed their eyes at the sight of the topless women on the covers. Kurosawa had merely nudged him and muttered: “Looks like this is your lucky day, Jo…”

Lucky day, indeed.

He’d been hoping that Takeuchi would also catch Masami Shibaki carrying that knife he always had with him, at least that way he’d have someone to harass through the entire punishment, and who better than one of the jocks? Unfortunately, the little Kansai jerk carried his knife elsewhere on his body and not in his bag, and Takeuchi wasn’t going to physically search any of his students. Naoki snorted at the thought. If that no good teacher knew what he was carrying in his pockets, surely he’d have a heart attack.

He looked around the boys’ toilet and inspected the situation, trying to assess the work that had to be done and how much time it would take him. That was Naoki, always trying to be cool and calculating, a trait most people wouldn’t associate with a member of the Shubultz Cuts, especially with a hothead like Kurosawa as their leader. But Naoki knew it was their odd mix of personalities that made them bond strongly, in addition to the feelings of mutual loss that was the basis of their group. Kurosawa might be temperamental, but he was fiercely loyal and he held the group together by his sheer charisma. Tetsu was a military buff, always dreaming of the day where he’d get his hands on weapons he could use to exact their revenge. Nanami was a pretty balanced act. Maezono was quiet but intuitive.

And him? Naoki would like to think that he was the smartest of the bunch, though his academic record hardly reflected that thought, nor did he really want it to. School was just another obstacle, another process, another annoying formal detail that had to be taken care of before they could really take command of their own lives and their own destinies. Frankly, he couldn’t wait.

Naoki began his clean-up job by mopping the floors, knowing that he’d better work fast before those rugby team jocks were finished with their afternoon training, because then they’d come barging in with their muddy feet and clothes and he’d have to begin the task all over again. Plus, he simply didn’t want to be caught dead doing this in their presence, even though they knew full well beforehand that he was serving punishment. Such a bunch of losers, those jocks. Throwing all their energy into sports, and for what? What purpose did that have, in a world like this? Entertainment? Self-esteem? Or, as Kurosawa had once bitterly observed, were they too afraid to face the realities of life and decided to use sports as an escape from the world and the state it was in?

He didn’t waste any time and began cleaning up the urinals, one by one as Takeuchi had instructed, because heaven forbid he had to do it all over again. There was no point in getting himself an even longer time in punishment, so he’d better do it right the first time. He wasn’t trying to please anybody, he just wanted to finish the job and go home.

The others wouldn’t be waiting for him, of course. They’d meet up later in Kurosawa’s place, the small house his uncle helped him purchase from the inheritance his parents left him when they were killed in the Shinjuku bombings. Maezono and Nanami were technically living in an orphanage, but they spent more and moree ate at Kurosawa’s these days and their caretakers didn’t seem to mind—the orphanage was filling up with younger kids, and the older ones were being let go. Tetsu was living with one of his married cousins, and Naoki himself was living with his widowed aunt—they weren’t close, but she stayed out of his business and pretty much let him be, and Naoki respected that enough to not cause her any trouble around the house.

After about fifteen minutes the urinals were clean, the floor and walls were shiny and polished, and the whole toilet smelled of disinfectant and floor cleaner—not exactly enough to get you high but it was pretty close. Naoki inspected his handiwork and decided that if Takeuchi wanted to find faults with it, he’d have a hard time.

“Well, well…” came a voice from the doorway, as if on cue. “I see you’ve set a new record here, Jo. Your friend Kurosawa took a whole hour last week.”

Naoki said nothing, he merely narrowed his eyes at the figure of the teacher standing in the doorway. He was dressed in his rugby coach gear, inspecting the toilet with keen eyes. Naoki dragged his mop and bucket along the floor, intentionally making a lot of noise as he did so, and put them back inside the equipment storage at the far end of the room. He retrieved his leather jacket and put it back on, making his way towards the door even before Takeuchi could say anything. He brushed past the teacher on his way out, not even making eye contact.

“Oh, and I won’t be returning those magazines to you, by the way…” Takeuchi called after him in that annoying voice of his. “They’re bad for kids your age.”

Just admit that you’re going to use them to jack yourself off, you old prick. Naoki thought to himself. Good luck trying to even get it up.

He was still muttering bitterly to himself when he turned a corner in the hallway and suddenly bumped into someone, hard, and he heard another voice cursing along with his own as he tried to regain his footing.

“Watch where you’re going, you shithead!”

Naoki turned and saw who he’d bumped into, and a scowl came on his face. Another one of those stupid jocks.

“What’s wrong, Urabe…you leaving early?” he asked mockingly. “Rugby training getting a little too rough for your sissy ass?”

Shugo Urabe’s large, dark eyes flared in anger, his hands and rugby clothes mud-stained, headgear held in handhand.

“None of your fucking business, Jo.” The brown-haired boy hissed. “Finished cleaning the bathroom, huh?”

“Unlike you, I stayed until my job was done.” Naoki sneered. “What was it this time? Aoi’s whining getting the better of your nerves? Asakura ignoring you again?”

Urabe’s throat made a disgruntled noise and he turned around, walking the way Naoki had been coming from, his back turned to him.

“Aim carefully when you piss, will you?” Naoki called out after him. “And when your friends come in, tell those little fags Shibaki and Sakurai to watch it when they’re fucking each other up the walls! I put enough disinfectant in there to give them serious itches!”

Without turning around, Urabe lifted a hand over his head and gave Naoki the finger.

“Stupid jock…” Naoki muttered to himself, turning around and heading for the exit.

From the distance as he walked past the schoolyard he could still see the rugby team practicing, Asakura and Motomura as always cheering them on from the sidelines and jotting down notes, Makimura habitually bossing everybody around and Mukai with that annoying high-pitched laughter of his. Perhaps the only thing more annoying than that was Aoi’s constant shouting and bitching. He was the only person Naoki had ever met with that sort of temper, one that would shame even Kurosawa. Such an unstable little freak with his stupid blonde hair. What did Asakura see in him that was even remotely likeable, anyway? Naoki almost felt sorry for Urabe at that moment. Almost.

Then there was the girl, Kitano. Nobody knew much about her, she was Kurosawa’s seating partner in class but he hardly ever talked about her, not even to complain. She was a mystery to everyone, keeping to herself, and everybody else left her alone. They all had their secrets, anyhow. And oh…yes, there was Shibaki and Sakurai, or as Nanami once mockingly called them, ‘the happy couple’. The Cuts had never liked Shibaki from the moment the Kansai transfer showed up in their class, full of attitude and carrying that knife around like he was some sort of gangster. A midget gangster, anyhow.

For a while it seemed that Shibaki was destined to be another one of those transfer loners who didn’t get along with anyone, until someone—Haruya Sakurai, perhaps, had the bright idea of inviting him into the rugby team. Naoki didn’t know how it came about, nor did he want to know, but these days Shibaki and Sakurai seemed surgically attached to each other, which got the Shubultz Cuts crowing, never wasting an opportunity to taunt them or their friends about it, as Naoki had done earlier to Urabe. Shibaki always came across as reckless and aggressive, while Sakurai was quiet and looked a bit wimpy to Naoki’s eyes. He snorted at the thought. No prize for guessing who gets the dick up the ass in that relationship.

He got to Kurosawa’s place just as the sun was setting, and faintly he heard the sound of rock music coming from inside the house. The small, one-storey home sat next to an empty lot and a house whose occupant was rarely at home, so the boys were free to play their music to their heart’s desire. It was Nanami who opened the door for him, smiling and offering him a can of beer. “You sure do smell like a freshly-cleaned toilet.”

Naoki punched his chest jokingly, accepting the already-opened can as the two made their way to what was the living room, at least in the structural layout of the house, but they’d converted it into a sort of den where they could sit together, watch TV, listen to music, and generally hang out. Tetsu looked up from the arms manual he was engrossed in to give Naoki a welcome nod, and Kurosawa grinned as he saw Naoki enter the room.

“That was a quick one, Jo.”

“Fifteen minutes, give or take a few.” Naoki said as he sat down beside the Shubultz Cuts leader.

“And was Takeuchi pleased?”

“Very. He said I beat your time from last week by a huge margin.”

Kurosawa laughed sardonically. “I wasn’t really interested in breaking the toilet-cleaning time records.”

“Neither was I, but I wanted to get the job done before those jocks came in.” Naoki said, taking a long drink out of his beer can. Kurosawa hardly had to show any ID when he wanted to buy liquor these days—one look at his imposing stature and the store clerk happily handed him whatever he wanted, no questions asked, as long as he paid for it. And Kurosawa always paid—the Cuts weren’t petty thieves, he always told them.

“You still have the goods, right?” Maezono asked him.

Naoki reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a cigarette pack—only it wasn’t filled with regular cigarettes. The Cuts weren’t careless enough to try smoking pot at school, nor were they addicts or anything of the sort, it was just another one of those things people their age tried—pretty soon they’d probably move on and find something else. Each took one and passed the light around, and three drags in Naoki was already starting to feel the effects. This particular type was a strong one, which he purchased on the streets with relative ease. You got the money, they got the goods. Supply and demand. The simplest sort of economics.

They didn’t do much that evening except sit there, getting fairly intoxicated, sporadic conversations peppered here in there. Naoki was getting slightly woozy in the head by the time Tetsu decided to go home, saying that his cousin would be worried if he got home too late.

“I’d better go, too…” Naoki said, extinguishing his cigarette on an ashtray. “You two staying here, right?”

Maezono and Nanami both nodded, seemingly a little too high to form intelligible words. Naoki stood up, making sure his legs weren’t too wobbly from all that beer, and waited for a few moments for his head to clear.

“You okay, Jo?” came Kurosawa’s voice from somewhere in the room.

“I’m fine…” Naoki assured him. “That’s some strong shit we just smoked.”

“No kidding…” Kurosawa said. “Be careful on the way, you two.”

Tetsu and Naoki left the house together, until they got to the end of the street where they parted ways, each going in the opposite direction. Naoki knew a shortcut to his aunt’s house which was about fifteen minutes on foot, taking him through a section of the housing complex that hadn’t been developed. Walking would also give him an opportunity to clear his head a bit, so at least he wouldn’t be stoned when he had to face his aunt.

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Naoki began walking, feeling the night’s wind on his face. The streets were fairly deserted on this side of the city, and he didn’t know whether the intoxication had messed up with his senses but the night felt somewhat colder than it used to be. He’d only been walking for five minutes or so when suddenly he felt uneasy, his instincts kicking in through the haze in his head and telling him that danger was near. Alarmed, Naoki looked around, which made him dizzy, but there was nobody there to see.

“Well, if it isn’t Naoki Jo, of the esteemed Shubultz Cuts…” a deep, mocking voice suddenly said from behind him.

Spinning on his heels Naoki caught sight of three boys of his own age, standing a few steps behind him, their faces unrecognizable in the darkness. But as they stepped into the light of one of the street lamps, he knew who they were and his something hard and cold landed in his gut.

“Hyougo Hasae…” he muttered.

“The one and only.” The tall, heavyset boy who’d first spoken to him said.

Hyougo Hasae was the leader of a gang from the neighboring Kasagi Middle School, a place people said was very much like Shikanotoride, and the two schools were always competing with each other both in sports and other ‘activities’. In that spirit, there had always been a great deal of animosity between Shubultz Cuts and Hasae’s gang, which to Naoki’s knowledge had no name as of yet. No name, just plenty of members and a penchant for trouble. Trouble that he couldn’t possibly face alone right now, especially in his current state.

The boy on Hasae’s right, shorter but well-built, stepped forward. “You’re tresspassing on our territory, Jo. Did you know that?”

“Territory, huh?” Naoki said, reminding himself not to lose his composure. “Nice place. What exactly do you do around here, anyway? Scare off children and take away their lunch money?”

The boy looked at Hasae. “Sure doesn’t know his place, does he?”

“Don’t worry, Shima.” Hasae replied coolly. “He’ll know his place soon enough.”

Warning bells went off in Naoki’s head, though he fought not to let it show on his exterior. “Look, I got no business with you, okay? Just leave me alone.”

The boy on Hasae’s left, tall and thin with red hair, laughed mockingly. “He’s scared.”

“Of course he is.” Shima said. “Some gang Kurosawa’s put together here…once they’re on their own they can’t do shit.”

Naoki’s chest rumbled with anger, but he knew fighting would be a stupid thing to do. “I got no time for you. I’m going home.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” Hasae said menacingly. “Let him have it, Tamura.”

Without warning the red-haired boy lunged at Naoki, who realized a little too late that his opponent was brandishing a flick-knife. He jumped to one side to avoid the attack but Tamura swung the knife, slashing at Naoki’s left arm. The Shikanotoride student felt a searing pain, but mentally put it aside. He dropped to a fighting stance and threw a punch, which landed squarely on Tamura’s jaw. Seeing this, the other two soon joined the fray, in which Naoki found himself hopelessly outnumbered. He wasn’t too good at hand-to-hand fighting, and in his current state he was even worse.

He managed to land a few kicks and punches but it was always going to be a losing battle. Hasae’s strong fist struck his jaw, sending blood spattering onto the pavement, and Naoki fell, clutching his bleeding mouth. Shima threw in a few kicks into his stomach for good measure, while Tamura struck his face again with the butt of his knife. Finally, when Naoki was barely conscious, his head swimming with pain and his mouth full of his own blood, Hasae knelt beside him and looked down on him menacingly.

“Let this be a message for your leader, Kurosawa…” he said. “We won’t tolerate any of you pathetic Shubultz Cuts or whatever fancy-ass name you call yourselves in our territory. Is that clear?”

Naoki didn’t acknowledge him. He wouldn’t give the bastard that pleasure. Thankfully, Hasae felt that they’d gotten enough and walked away, signaling his two stooges to go with him. They left Naoki lying on the pavement, bleeding, but the apparently unsatisfied Shima gave him one last kick, this time to the back of his head. Naoki cried out, his vision blurring and fading into blackness.

-------------------

“Jo…can you hear me? Jo!”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t make out who it was. His head was spinning, and he still had the taste of blood in his mouth, and when he tried to open his eyes all he saw was a hazy blur.

“Jo…JO!!”

Naoki fought to get his eyesight into focus, multiple figures dancing in front of him before they finally converged to form the image of two large, worried eyes and a head of bushy brown hair, looming over him.

“U…Urabe?”

It was Shugo Urabe all right, his figure shilouetted against the street lamp above them, still carrying his schoolbag but dressed in street clothes.

“What happened to you? Who did this?”

Naoki tried to raise himself off the pavement, but his neck ached so bad he had to put his head back down.

“Hasae…and two of his stooges…”

“From Kasagi?”

Naoki could only nod.

“Come on, we gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Naoki shook his head, which he immediately regretted because it made him even dizzier. “No hospital.”

Urabe glared at him. “Jo…this is not the time to play tough guy, okay? You’ve been hurt!”

“And why do you care, anyway?!” Naoki snapped at the rubgy player.

“What, you want me to leave you lying here? Fine by me!” Urabe retorted.

“Fuck you…” Naoki muttered. “Help me get up.”

He was expecting another snappy answer from the rugby player, but none came. Urabe pulled him up to a seating position, and Naoki inspected his wounds. His left arm was bleeding, but not too badly. The knife had managed to cut through the thick material of his jacket, but the leather had partially lessened the impact and left him with what he hoped was a relatively shallow cut. He was sure he’d gotten bruised in his stomach when Shima kicked him, and he’d probably taken a few punches in the face, as well. Urabe watched him, looking genuinely concerned, which surprised Naoki. He thought a jock like Urabe would probably take in some sort of pleasure at seeing a member of the Shubultz Cuts in this sort of state.

Evidently, he was wrong.

“I’m okay.” Naoki said, even though he knew he wasn’t. “I can make it home.”

“With these injuries? No way.” Urabe shook his head. “We have to get you treated.”

“Look, I said I’m not going to any fucking hospital, okay? I hate those places!” Naoki snapped, but immediately he realized he’d just let Urabe in on a bit more than he should’ve allowed. He’d never revealed his vulnerabilities to anyone outside the Cuts, but now he’d just revealed more than he should’ve to this damn jock.

Surprisingly, Urabe didn’t say anything to counter him. The brown-haired boy nodded and said, “I understand.”

Naoki looked up at him, surprised. Understand, did he? Did he understand that Naoki had once had to spend days in a hospital, looking at one mangled body after another, before finally discovering those that belonged to his family? Did he understand how traumatized he was by the experience, how irreversibly damaged he was by what he’d seen?

“Okay. No hospital. But we can’t leave these wounds untreated.” Urabe said.

“You got a better idea?” Naoki muttered bitterly.

Urabe looked up into the dark, starless skies and sighed heavily. “It’s going to rain pretty soon. My house isn’t far from here. Three blocks down. Think you can make it that far?”

“Of course I can!” Naoki said indignantly, and he tried to get onto his feet. It didn’t work, as he was almost slammed back down onto the pavement by the bruising pain in his stomach and the pounding headache. He grunted, loosing his footing, but Urabe half-caught him out of the fall, supporting his weight as he struggled to get to both feet.

“You stink.” The rugby player crinkled his nose. “Have you been smoking weed or something?”

Naoki didn’t answer.

“Figures.”

The Shubultz Cuts member tried to figure out something snappy to say, but couldn’t find anything. In fact, he allowed Urabe to help him to his feet and they began walking, Naoki spitting blood onto the pavement every few steps, which they took slowly with Urabe partially supporting his weight.

“Where were you going, anyway?” Urabe asked as they walked down the streets, ignoring the curious glances of several people whom they passed by.

“Home.” Naoki said, licking blood off his lips. “From Kurosawa’s place.”

“Oh.”

“And you?” Naoki asked back.

“I was going home from work.”

Naoki’s eyebrows furrowed. “Work?”

“Yeah, work.” Urabe repated. “You know that supermarket down at the corner of this street and the main road? I work there three days a week, after school. I push around shopping carts and help with the inventory, that kind of stuff.”

“I see…” Naoki said. “So that’s why you left rugby practice early today.”

The brown-haired boy nodded. “Shintaro lets me, and Takeuchi doesn’t mind. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my schoolwork, he says. He knows my situation.”

“Situation?” Naoki asked. “What situation?”

Urabe shrugged. “Financial situation, of course. What else? I only ended up in Shikanotoride because my parents couldn’t afford the tuition in my old school anymore, what with my father getting laid off and my three little brothers to be taken care of.”

“You have three brothers?” Naoki asked in amazement.

“Four, actually. One’s older, and he’s working in Kobe right now, in the dockyards.” Urabe said, his face impassive, as if reciting a tale he’d had to tell too many times over. “Backbreaking work, and it doesn’t pay much, but it’s a job just the same.”

“Oh.” Naoki said, and for a while he said nothing more. The two boys slowly made their way down the narrow street where Urabe’s home was, in a row of houses that were even smaller than Kurosawa’s, and most of them looking in a slight state of disrepair. Naoki couldn’t imagine an entire family living in one of those homes, never mind a large family, like Urabe’s apparently was.

“Are your parents home?”

Urabe shook his head. “My mother’s gone to visit my sick grandmother, in Yokohama. And she’s taken my brothers with her. She knows better than to leave them in my care.”

Naoki chuckled. “And your father?”

“In Tokyo. Trying to convince some banks to give him loan to start his own business.” Urabe said. “He won’t be back until next week.”

“So you have the house to yourself?”

“Pretty much.” Urabe said. “It’s a welcome relief, honestly. Things can get crazy in there, sometimes.”

“I can imagine…” Naoki said as they stopped in front of a small house, painted a dull gray colour which might have been light blue at one point. “Is this it?”

“Yeah.”

Urabe helped him up the steps to the front door, and as they did so the first trickle of rain fell, and soon there was a fair drizzle wetting the pavement and the streets they’d just passed. Naoki blew a sigh of relief. If he’d insisted on walking home, he wouldn’t have made it back by now, and he knew his aunt would have a hissy fit if she found him standing at the door bruised, rain-soaked, and bleeding.

“Sorry about the mess…” Urabe said as they walked in the front door and into the living room. This house didn’t even have a foyer.

It wasn’t as messy as it was back in Kurosawa’s den, or at least it was a different kind of mess. The kitchen doubled as the dining room, and Naoki could see pieces of paper strewn about the small dining table. Other than that, he saw dirty dishes in the sink, and various odd objects lying about the floor, including a few children’s toys which undoubtedly belonged to Urabe’s younger brothers. He couldn’t imagine Urabe trying to find some peace and quiet to study in a house like this, especially with three kids running around the cramped spaces.

He tried to bend down to take off his boots, but he grunted as the sharp pain in his stomach returned, nearly taking him off his feet again.

“Whoa there!” Urabe held him up, stopping him from falling. “Let’s get you seated first, shall we? Worry about the boots later.”

Naoki could only nod in agreement, and Urabe led him to the couch, clearing away some old newspapers and allowing him to sit down. He helped Naoki take off his jacket, and for the first time Naoki could inspect the damage done to his left arm. It was a shallow cut, like he’d suspected, but a cut nonetheless.

“You’re lucky you had that jacket on…” Urabe said as he too inspected the wound. “What was it, a knife?

“Yeah…” Naoki said. “Hit me in the face with the hilt, too.”

“I think you’re going to have a black eye tomorrow.” Urabe said as he examined Naoki’s face. “Did they knock any of your teeth out?”

“Don’t think so…” Naoki mumbled. “But my jaw hurts like fucking hell.”

“Okay, Jo…I’m gonna go get a first aid kit and some ice. You stay here, okay?”

“Sure.”

Urabe left, and Naoki slowly laid his body down along the length of the couch, cushioning his head on his folded jacket, which smelled faintly of blood. He closed his eyes against the dizziness and listened to the noises as Urabe made his way through the house, footsteps thudding, drawers opening and closing, before finally returning to the couch, setting a variety of objects on the low glass table.

Naoki was silent as Urabe tended to him, very carefully, first using wads of tissue to wipe the blood off his face and mouth, and giving Naoki a pack of ice to hold up against his bruised face. Next he took care of the wound on Naoki’s left arm, holding it over a basin of cool water, which he used to clean it. Naoki winced as his torn flesh came into contact with the water, but he didn’t say anything. Urabe seemed to know what he was doing, as he opened thest ast aid kit and pulled out some antiseptic, the kind you could apply directly onto an open wound, and a roll of bandages. The antiseptic stung and Naoki couldn’t help but flinch a little, but Urabe held his arm steady. After the wound was cleaned and treated, Urabe bandaged his arm tightly, securing it with some surgical tape.

“You look like you’re an expert in this…” Naoki commented, his first words in a long, long while.

“My mother was in nursing school, but didn’t finish it.” Urabe explained. “She works part-time in a clinic now. She taught me all this.”

“Oh.”

Urabe finished by placing strips of band-aid on the small cuts on Naoki’s face, then he tidied up his tools and carried the basin back to the kitchen, its contents now tinted red with Naoki’s blood. Naoki laid there, holding an ice pack to his face with his good arm, he he looked up to the ceiling, where a single neon bulb provided the illumination.

“Here…take this.” Urabe said, setting a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the table. “I can’t offer you much for dinner, I’m afraid…would some noodles do?”

Naoki was still pretty dumbfounded by all this unexpected kindness, but he nodded. “They’ll do just fine.”

Urabe was on the move again, making his way towards the kitchen, but this time Naoki called out after him. “Hey, Urabe…”

The brown-haired boy looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Naoki smiled, small but sincere, and said the words he thought he’d never say to someone like Shugo Urabe. “Thank you…”

His smile was returned warmly, and Urabe muttered “You’re welcome.”

After taking two of the painkillers and washing them down with the glass of water, Naoki laid his head back down and closed his eyes, listening to the rain splattering against the windows and the sounds of Urabe preparing dinner in the kitchen. Of all places, he ended up in the house of a jock. Imagine that. Naoki had to smile at that. Well, he ought to be thankful. Urabe was being far nicer to him than Naoki deserved, what with the Cuts’ constant haranguing of people like the jocks, the nerds, pretty much everyone but themselves. Everyone who didn’t know their pain, who didn’t share their loss, who couldn’t possibly understand their grief, their troubles.

But what about people like Urabe? His family was intact, but was his life any easier than Naoki’s, or Kurosawa’s? A jobless father, three little brothers, no space for himself, having to transfer out of a school because he couldn’t afford it anymore…how could that have felt? How could he have faced a classroom full of friends and tell them that he was leaving them to go to some second-rate place, notorious for its high levels of delinquency because his parents couldn’t afford the tuition at his former school?

Naoki opened his eyes and inspected his carefully bandaged arm. For a boy with so much trouble in his own life, and with so much reason to dislike people like Naoki and his gang, Urabe sure didn’t seem to hesitate in showing Naoki a measure of kindness and caring Naoki never thought he was capable of. Then again, there was probably a lot about Urabe and the other jocks that he didn’t know.

About twenty minutes passed, the painkillers starting to take effect as Naoki’s headache subsided, and Urabe returned bringing two bowls of noodles, setting them down on the table before helping Naoki to sit up. The two sat there and ate in silence, and Naoki had to admit that the noodles tasted better than any they’d ever tried to cook at Kurosawa’s place, and he was thankful that they were eating because he didn’t know what he’d say to fill the awkward silence otherwise. He ate slowly, his jaw still hurting, and he could only put a small clump of noodles in his mouth at one time, carefully chewing it before swallowing.

Urabe finished his bowl first, and while Naoki was still halfway through his portion the rugby player sat on the couch beside him and bent down, and Naoki soon realized that Urabe was unlacing his boots for him.

“Urabe…you don’t have to—”

“It’s okay, Jo.” Urabe assured him. “I can get them.”

Naoki continued eating in silence, conflicting feelings battling out in a quiet rumble inside his chest as Urabe took off one boot and then the other, never for a moment showing any hint of displeasure or that he minded the task, and when he got up to place Naoki’s boots in the shoerack, looking out of place among the sports shoes and children’s sneakers, Naoki could only stare after him, the rumble in his chest growing louder. How could he put it? He was…dare he say it? He was touched. He really was. Not even his own friends, closely bonded as they may be, had ever treated him like this. They looked after one another and would die for each other, Naoki knew that, but kindness in this manner, even to each other, just wasn’t part of the Shubultz Cuts repertoire.

It wasn’t part of Naoki’s life, either. Hadn’t been for a long, long time.

It was still raining when Naoki finally finished his dinner, muttering his gratitude again as Urabe picked up the two bowls and carried them back to the kitchen, answering it with yet another smile. And it was very unsettling for Naoki to dier, er, much to his own surprise, that he actually found some qualities in Shugo Urabe’s smile that was endearing…comforting, even. Or should he say it…beautiful.

Are you crazy? What are you thinking?

Naoki shook his head.He’s been really nice to me. I owe him one for helping me.

You’re a Shubultz Cuts member. We don’t associate with jocks like him. They just don’t understand our kind.

Funny that the voice telling him to remember his ‘status’ should sound an awful lot like Kurosawa’s.

This is his house, and I’m his guest. The least I can do is be nice in return. I owe it to him.

“Jo, you want anything to drink?” Urabe called out from the kitchen.

Naoki turned around and saw the rugby player standing in front of the refrigerator with its door open, looking through the contents.

“You got any beer?” he asked before he could stop himself.

For a second he thought Urabe would tell him off, but then the brown head disappeared behind the refrigerator door, and Naoki heard cans clinking around. When Urabe finally withdrew his head and closed the door, what he pulled out of the fridge was a six-pack of beer. Naoki grinned widely as Urabe brought the six-pack to the living room, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

“What’s this…” he said, inspecting the brew. They were different from the ones he used to drink at Kurosawa’s—he knew the brands. These tasted better, were much more expensive, and much more potent. “A bonus from your workplace?”

“Nah.” Urabe chuckled. “They’re from Taku.”

“From Aoi, huh?” Naoki said as he took one can and opened it using his good hand. “Little rich asshole sure can get anything he wants…”

Urabe laughed at that—apparently Takuma Aoi’s reputation for being a bitchy, annoying little asshole was a laughing matter even among his own friends. It made Naoki feel a lot easier, somewhat, as if continually discovering that he and Urabe had a lot more in common than he first thought.

“Some sort of apology for taking your place in the team?” Naoki said as he took a long, satisfying drink. “Or for taking your girlfriend?”

Urabe drank out of his can, wiped the excess off his lips with the back of his hand, and shook his head. “Nao was never my girlfriend…”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Well, who doesn’t know that, already?” Urabe said casually. “It was never mutual. And I can’t really blame Taku, either. If Nao likes him, well that’s her choice.”

Naoki studied the expression on the ruby player’s face, but he saw almost none. Either Urabe really didn’t feel any displeasure at Asakura preferring Aoi over him, or he was very good at masking his true feelings. He suspected it was the latter. Naoki himself was pretty good at that.

“And is that feeling…mutual?” he said, surprised at his own caution in asking the question. What was it—concern for Urabe’s feelings? Only a few minutes ago that seemed like a preposterous concept. He normally didn’t care about other people’s feelings when he talked to them—not anyone other than his gang, anyway. Much like Kurosawa never hesitated to say what was on his mind, to anyone, anytime. Why was he being so careful all of a sudden?

“I don’t know…” Urabe shook his head, his voice a little wistful. “Everyone can see that Nao’s got a thing for Taku, it’s so obvious…but I don’t think Taku’s returning her affections.”

“Maybe he just can’t.” Naoki said, rather spontaneously, words he didn’t even know he had in him.

“What makes you say that?”

A little flustered with himself, the Shubultz Cuts member tried to hide is unease with a shrug. “I don’t know…that friend of yours got serious problems. I wouldn’t be too surprised if he’s spent too much time being angry with the whole world and forgot how to be nice to people.”

Urabe’s large, dark eyes glanced him over. “Like you and your friends, maybe?”

Somewhere, deep down, Naoki knew that question was coming. Common procedure would be to smack Urabe across the face and say something to him in a language that would most probably get him a few extra hours in detention if his teachers heard it. But common procedure had stopped being applicable the instant Urabe had helped him to his feet off the pavement a while ago. Trying to will away the image of his own friends’ angry faces that had suddenly popped into his head, Naoki exhaled deeply and nodded.

“Maybe.”

He was pretty sure that Urabe hadn’t expected that answer, either, because the rugby player’s eyes widened, his expression bemused. Naoki looked down at the beer can in his hand, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see that Urabe was sitting there looking at him, studying him, as if trying to make sure that he’d heard right.

The rain was still splashing against the windows when Urabe finally spoke again, breaking the awkward silence.

“Jo…”

“Yeah?”

“I…I don’t think the rain is gonna let up any time soon.” Urabe said. “You gonna wait till then, or are you going to…well, do you wanna stay here?”

Naoki considered this carefully. There was no point in trying to make a run for his aunt’s home in this sort of weather, with his sort of injuries. Still, the prospect of actually spending a night in the home of Shugo Urabe struck him as weird. Not really unpleasant, just…weird. Naoki sighed deeply. He might as well go for the weird. This was a pretty weird day, anyway.

“Can I?” he asked hesitantly. “Stay here, I mean…”

Urabe looked around. “Well, if you don’t mind sleeping in the couch.”

“No problem.”

The rugby player gave him a lopsided smirk. “A Shubultz Cuts member sleeping on my couch…I’ll probably never hear the end of it from my friends.”

“Hey, I’ll never hear the end of it from my friends, either.” Naoki smiled back. “Which is why I won’t tell them.”

“Our little secret?” Urabe extended his hand towards Naoki.

“Deal.” Naoki accepted handhand and shook it, firmly. “I need to use your phone, though. Would that be okay?”

“Sure. It’s in the kitchen.” Urabe said. “I’ll see if I can grab some extra pillows and a blanket for you.”

As Urabe stood up Naoki went with him, feeling the state of his body as he did so. The beer had him a little tipsy, but not as sloshed as before. The ache in his stomach was still there, but the pounding in his head was nearly gone. His jaw still hurt, but only if he moved it about too much, and his left arm was a little stiff. Other than that, he felt fine. He walked into the kitchen and found the telephone, calling home to tell his aunt that he was spending the night at Kurosawa’s, as he’d done many times before. His aunt had never actually called back to check if he was actually there, so Naoki was hoping she wouldn’t do it this time, either. He wouldn’t be able to explain it to her, much less to his friends. They’d give him hell for this.

Or would they? Would they have done any differently, were they put in his situation?

As Naoki put the phone down he saw Urabe walking back into the living room with two pillows and a blanket, throwing them on the couch. The rugby player had taken off his jeans, leaving him with just his shirt and his loose boxers on. He set the pillows against on one end of the couch and spread the blanket on top of it, then he turned and saw Naoki’s blood-stained jacket lying on the armrest.

“I can wash that for you, if you’d like…” he offered.

“Nah.” Naoki shook his head. “I’ve caused you enough trouble. Besides it won’t be dry by tomorrow morning.”

Urabe smirked at that. “Can’t go to school without it, huh?”

“Smartass.” Naoki muttered, but there was no malice in his voice. He sat back down on his couch and picked up his beer can gain, Urabe doing the same beside him. Naoki took the time to examine his jacket and the damage done to it, wondering if it could be remedied by some stitches. But no, maybe he should just leave it that way. And leave the blood on it, too, on top of that. Something to show his friends in the morning, something to remember for a long time to come. A mark to remind him of his encounter with the Kasagi gang, and the fact that he’d survived.

A mark to remind him of the unexpected kindness he received from someone he’d previously thought of as one of his enemies.

“Jo…”

“Yeah?” Naoki asked.

“What’s it feel like?” Urabe asked, after taking a mouthful of beer and gulping it down.

“What?”

“Getting high.” Urabe said. “Like, when you smoke weed or something. How does it feel?”

For a moment Naoki only stared at the rugby player, but there was no hint of mockery on Urabe’s face. He was simply asking a question.

“Well…I’m not sure how to describe it.” Naoki began hesitantly. “Don’t believe the press sheet about hallucinations and colours or shit like that. It’s not true.”

“But does it…you know…” Urabe seemed to fidget, unsure of his own words. “Does it actually make you feel good?”

Naoki stared into his empty beer can for a long, long time but then decided to go on a whim and take his chances. If the jock wanted the answers, he’d have to get it himself. Naoki reached for his jacket again and fumbled inside his pockets, pulling out the same cigarette pack he’d shared with the rest of the Cuts back at Kurosawa’s. Pulling out one of the hand-rolled joints, he brandished it in front of Urabe’s startled face.

“Why don’t you try it for yourself?”

Urabe saw the challenge in his eyes and seemed to shrink back a little, his large eyes unsure. “I don’t know…I’m not into any of that stuff.”

“Once won’t kill you.” Naoki said. He didn’t know if it was true or not, of course. He hoped it was, for Urabe’s sake.

“I can’t, Jo.”

“I know you can’t. That’s why I’m daring you.” Naoki said, waving the joint in front of Urabe, tempting him. “Try it.”

Urabe’s eyes flickered, as if going back and forth between not wanting to get himself into potential trouble and not wanting to back out of a challenge by a member of the Shubultz Cuts, of all people. Finally, his lips curled into a self-determined scowl and he snatched the joint from Naoki’s hand.

“That’s more like it, Urabe.” Naoki said, smiling haughtily. “And don’t worry…I won’t tell your jock friends.”

“Light, you asshole.” Urabe snapped.

Naoki laughed, his stomach hurting slightly but he didn’t care. He fished in his jacket pockets some more and pulled out his lighter, throwing it Urabe’s way, who caught it with a rugby player’s expert catch. While Urabe was contemplating whether or not he should actually light up the joint, Naoki undid his belt buckle and took off his trousers, folding them neatly and putting them on the floor, leaving him with his grungy t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He also took off most of his accessories, all that chain and leather, and put them on the table. By the time he was finished Urabe had still not lit up his joint.

“Tell you what…” Naoki said. “If you light that one up, I’ll take another and we can get high together, if you’re too afraid to do it alone.”

Urabe’s eyes flared at the word ‘afraid’, but he said nothing. He put the joint between his lips and lit it, not quite with an expert’s grace since for all Naoki knew he wasn’t a smoker anyway, and Naoki himself took another joint out of the pack and carefully studied Urabe’s face. After the first drag and exhale the rugby player’s eyes fluttered, his nose twitching, and Naoki smiled knowingly. This was the same sort of reaction he’d see from Maezono or Tetsu, especially if he’d bought them a particularly strong type of weed, like the one Urabe was trying now.

“Shit…” the rugby player muttered. “This stuff is strong, Jo.”

“I know.” Naoki said as he took the lighter and lit up his own joint. “Ever smoked before?”

“Regular cigarettes, yes. Once or twice.” Urabe said. “But not this.”

“Anybody smoke weed in your gang? You seem to know the smell.”

Urabe shrugged. “Shibaki, I think. But not much. He once came to rugby practice half-stoned and Shintaro gave him hell for it. Lucky for him, Takeuchi wasn’t in that day. Smokes like a fucking train, though.”

Smirking, Naoki opened two beer cans and expertly threw the two empty ones into a nearby wastebasket. He pushed one can across the glass table towards Urabe. “Drink?”

Urabe stared back and forth between the can and the joint in his hand. “Is it safe? You know…both at the same time?”

Naoki waved him off dismissively. “I do it all the time.”

Seemingly assured by his words, Urabe accepted the can and drank a little, before resuming his smoke. Naoki did the same, and pretty soon he was light-headed and he felt his eyes starting to droop a little. Beside him, Urabe was getting a little woozy, and he laid down, his head resting on the armrest of the couch. “You’re right. No colours or crazy hallucinations.”

Naoki chuckled. “I told you.”

“I also heard…” Urabe said, his voice slightly slurred by all the beer and weed. “That it can…you know, some people say you can use this to get turned on or something. Is that true?”

“Ha! As if people our age need any help getting turned on?” Naoki snorted. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Well, that’s true…” Urabe nodded, his hair rustling against the worn upholstery. “Speaking of which, have you gotten any action lately, Jo?”

“None of your fucking business.” Naoki snapped, but he hardly meant the words anymore. The weed was starting to affect his composure, which he’d fought hard to maintain in Urabe’s presence.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.” Urabe said, laughing slightly, in a strange manner Naoki had never heard him laugh before. Looks like the weed was starting to get to him, too.

“Whatever.” Naoki retorted. “I don’t care much for it, anyway.”

“Really?” Urabe asked. “I heard some rumors going around…you and Mifune, they say.”

“Yuka Mifune?” Naoki’s eyes widened. “Sorry. Not interested in bitches who go around dressing up strange just to attract attention to herself. She’s not even a good fuck.”

Urabe stared at him. “So you did fuck her?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Well…no. Not really.”

“It wasn’t much. Didn’t mean anything to me, or to her, for that matter.” Naoki said. “I’m not interested in anything steady.”

“I see…”

“Hey, Urabe…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re no virgin, are you?”

“Fuck you, shithead.”

Naoki laughed. “Yeah, figured as much.”

Urabe lifted his head off the armrest, looking at him with eyes that were starting to go puffy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Naoki exhaled a puff of smoke from his joint and smiled at the rugby player. “I could tell you weren’t a virgin.”

“How?”

“Well, let’s put it this way…” Naoki said, taking another long drag. “If you were a virgin, you’d be chasing after a girl, any girl, who’d be willing to jump in the sack with you, instead of holding out on Asakura.”

Urabe snorted aloud, a puff of white smoke accompanying the gesture. “Clever observation. Guess that makes you the brains of your little gang, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve given up on Nao. Not that it matters to you, of course, but just so you know.”

“Move on, Urabe.” Naoki said a little chidingly. “Lest you get too desperate and become like those two friends of yours.”

“Who do you mean…what, you mean Shibaki and Haruya?” Urabe asked, and for a while Naoki thought the rugby player would show some signs of being insulted, but none came.

“Yeah, them.”

“You guys really think they’re doing it, don’t you?” Urabe asked.

“Shit, you’re their friend. You tell me.” Naoki snapped. “Are they?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Urabe said. “Since you guys are so convinced that they’re doing it, telling you otherwise wouldn’t really change anything, would it?”

Naoki laughed. “Guess not.”

For a while they were silent, each lying at different ends of the couch, their legs criss-crossing each other as they smoked their joints and drank their beer, and above Naoki’s head the neon glow was starting to change shapes, and he knew he was getting fairly stoned. Across from him Urabe seemed to be faring not much better, but good enough considering this was his first joint. Naoki didn’t know if it was the effect of the weed, the beer, or just his curiosity getting the better of him, but what had once seemed like only a joke and something to sneer about among his own friends suddenly became a matter of real interest. He lifted his heavy head off the pillows Urabe had given him and looked at the rugby player, who was lying across from him with his eyes closed, half-finished smoke held in one hand.

“Urabe…”

“Huh?”

“If I asked that question again in all seriousness, would you give me an honest answer?”

“Which question?”

“About Shibaki and Sakurai.”

Urabe’s eyes opened, and he regarded Naoki with a serious look, well as serious as he could manage under the influence of all that alcohol and weed. Naoki held his gaze, hoping own own disheveled state could still communicate the fact that he was, in fact, serious also.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m stoned.” Naoki answered without thinking.

“Yeah, well that’s obvious.” Urabe said. “I just don’t want you to regret ever asking.”

“There’s nothing to regret…” Naoki said. “And I can assure you the story won’t be repeated.”

“Because your dear friends in the Cuts wouldn’t want to hear it, anyway.”

“Correct.”

“Not even when they’re stoned?”

“You think you jocks are worth what little conversation we have when we’re stoned?”

Urabe laughed, that strange and woozy laughter again, which sounded oddly musical to Naoki’s ears, teasing him, taunting him. The rugby player stretched languidly on the couch, taking one last, long drag out of his joint before extinguishing it on the glass of the table, setting his hands on his stomach. “What do you want to know, Jo?”

His voice was suddenly silky, and Naoki found himself afflicted with shivers he couldn’t quite explain.

“Well, what do you know?” he asked. “What have you seen?”

Urabe smiled, his eyes opening slightly to fix Naoki with a dazed, yet oddly smug glance. “Everything.”

Even being as intoxicated as he was, Naoki couldn’t stop his surprised gasp, his still-aching jaw dropping. “What?”

“Everything…” Urabe repeated, deliberately dragging the word on his tongue, making each syllable sound like a daring invitation. “…and that’s all I’m saying.” he said, accentuating his words with a secretive little smile.

“Damn you…” Naoki muttered. “Tell me.”

“Oh, no. Don’t think so…” Urabe was squirming now, thoroughly stoned, and somehow one of his legs ended up going across Naoki’s lap. The Shubultz Cuts member looked down upon the tresspassing limb as if unsure of whether to push it off or not, but then decided to let it be.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Urabe’s voice climbed to a sing-song pitch. “Because you’re part of the Shubultz Cuts, and you guys are such a macho bunch of guys that you can’t possibly be interested in the details.”

Shit, shit, shit. Naoki cursed silently, wanting nothing more than to smack Urabe across the face and knock that dazed grin off him. His curiosity was being uncooperative, it itched and demanded to be scratched, even if it meant swallowing his own pride. And this was what Urabe wanted, he knew it. The little fucking brat.

“What if I am…interested in the details?” he asked.

“Really?”

“Tell me about it, Urabe.”

“Reaaallllyyy?” Urabe said, annoyingly slow. Naoki lost his patience and extinguished his joint, throwing it into the wastebasket. He pushed Urabe’s leg off his lap and crawled across the couch towards the rugby player, ignoring the pain in his stomach and the stiffness in his left arm. When his face was over Urabe’s, he looked down on the brown-haired boy’s face with what he hoped would come across as a menacing look.

“Tell me.”

Why did he want to know? Why was he even interested? Naoki couldn’t quite pin it down, especially in his current state. Maybe it was the fact the Cuts had been saying it aloud so much without actually seeing anything going on, that this was the perfect opportunity to affirm their suspicions. Maybe it was to justify their constant teasing and taunting of Shibaki and Sakurai—not that they ever needed justification, or that Shibaki and Sakurai seemed to care. So what was it? Sheer curiosity on his part? Would he even consider sharing the story with his friends, however vaguely? Or was he just too stoned that all logic seemed to escape him?

Urabe looked up at him, those large eyes red-rimmed, and he gave Naoki a smile that seemed to promise him a pleasant experience. How he ever came to that conclusion Naoki didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to hear it.

“Sit down, Jo. And I’ll tell you all about it.”

TBC