Katsu leaned against the wall of Ichirou’s bedroom, his eyes trained on Nathaniel’s back. He watched for a few seconds, noting the consistent rise and fall of his chest, then looked away. He let his head fall against the wall. If anyone was good at staring off into fuck-all space, it was him.
He didn’t feel bad for Nathaniel—he couldn’t really, despite many efforts. Katsu wasn’t chemically set up that way. Maybe he had been, at one point in his life. He wasn’t upset about it. A tad angry, sure, but that was an emotion he had to watch from afar rather than actively partake in.
Katsu was the only person Ichirou trusted as much as the Lord trusted himself. Nathaniel, physically, was a map of damage. After the medic finished treating Nathaniel’s neck, he started on a few particularly glaring cuts on his chest. It was necessary, and despite the medic’s insistence (well, as much as someone could insist something on Lord Moriyama), Ichirou didn’t let him check anything else.
Ichirou eventually got pulled away, and after giving brief instructions to Katsu (he already knew what to do), he left. Katsu changed Nathaniel’s clothes with the amount of courtesy the bodyguard of the goddamn heir to the Moriyama clan could have. Seeing what he did, he doubted Nathaniel had been granted much courtesy in life, either. Katsu didn’t change Nathaniel’s boxers—he had a guess as to what he would find.
Katsu’s eyes flicked back to the sleeping boy when he heard his breathing pattern change. Nathaniel’s fucking blue eyes peeled open a second later. Katsu watched as he tried to pick up his head, but couldn’t.
Katsu stayed still as last night’s events unfolded behind Nathaniel’s eyes.
He figured the internal horror movie ended once Nathaniel resorted to just shoving himself off the mattress, injuries be damned. He felt relatively comfortable observing Nathaniel until he reached an unnaturally unscathed hand towards the back of his head.
Now was probably a good time to jump in.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately snapped towards him, his entire body going rigid. Katsu narrowed his eyes.
“Katsu,” Nathaniel said, hesitantly. Katsu smirked and brushed invisible lint from the shoulder of his suit.
“The one and only.” A look of confusion and… was that respect, crossing Nathaniel’s gaze? Nathaniel had very subtle changes in his expression, clearly well-bred in keeping his feelings to himself. Nathaniel sat back on his heels, sizing him up with some level of taught reservation.
Damn right.
Katsu let him look at all 180 pounds of his lean muscle. He cocked his head to the side as Nathaniel stared, running a hand through his black hair when a strand fell into his line of sight. Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed at his unbuttoned shirt and the red tie draped over his shoulder. Katsu knew he was gorgeous.
Katsu’s job was his entire life, and his entire life was his job. He found breaks when he could, and couldn’t give less of a shit if his attire bothered Nathaniel. He highly doubted that it did, anyways.
Once Nathaniel seemed to finish his Katsu-analysis, Katsu pushed off the wall and stalked towards the bed. He slowed when Nathaniel flinched, recognition stirring deep in his own mind. Nathaniel clearly tried to hide his flinch, but it wasn’t a job well-done. Katsu sighed and pushed his shirt off of his left shoulder.
“It looks like this, if you’re wondering,” he said. His mark was long-healed by then. Katsu dropped his hand a few moments later when Nathaniel nodded.
“Why can’t I feel it?” Nathaniel asked.
“Ichirou had one of his doctors treat it and give you Novocaine. He also worked on a few of your other cuts,” Katsu said. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately zoned out, his shoulders unconsciously dropping and not rising again.
Warning, warning.
“Bathroom?” he asked. Katsu didn’t hesitate to point to the door off to the side. He was already moving before Nathaniel stumbled off the bed. Katsu swung the door open with his hand just as Nathaniel doubled-over, crashing to his knees on the black tiles.
He looked away before Nathaniel started throwing up in the toilet. It wasn’t a picture he wanted to look at.
Katsu propped the door open and headed back into Ichirou’s room to get mouthwash out of his nightstand. Nathaniel had finished vomiting whatever he ate by the time Katsu made it back. Leaning against the door, he watched the redhead’s hands shake as he looked down. Katsu tracked his eyes as they registered the black shirt and red sweatpants he wore.
God fucking dammit.
Nathaniel went back to dry-heaving a moment later.
Katsu understood, but he didn’t dwell on it long. His life before the Moriyama’s was long buried, and it would take nothing short of a trip to fucking Mars for him dig it back up. Ichirou would be right next to him, burning the world to ashes before he let it touch Katsu. He dismissed both thoughts as they came.
Katsu watched Nathaniel pull in a few shuddering breaths, his shoulders shaking. Nathaniel glanced up at him in the half-light of the bathroom.
“Wer– were you here?” he asked. The question almost surprised Katsu. “When th– they did…”
“Yes.” Nathaniel took a breath.
“Did they do anything else?” Nathaniel was looking at him like he’d rather kill himself than hear the answer. But he asked anyway.
Katsu clenched his jaw, his breathing steady. He watched his anger from afar gather like a title wave. It wouldn’t be able to drown him. Katsu’s mind wasn’t wired like everyone else’s—he had made sure of it, and Ichirou helped—and he knew the anger didn’t have jack-shit on him.
“No,” Katsu said. “They didn’t.” Nathaniel let out a sigh, collapsing against the glass shower door behind him. Katsu knew Nathaniel wasn’t trusting him, at least not willingly.
Katsu kept his breathing steady. He’d been with Ichirou long enough, he supposed, that he didn’t try to hide behind his eyes anymore.
After a minute of staring, Nathaniel shot him a confused look. The boy who had looked two words (“they did”) away from death now completely buried.
“What’s your problem?” Nathaniel asked, a familiar bite in his tone. Katsu knew who Nathaniel was, but he’d never met Nathaniel until then. Katsu, for whatever reason, couldn’t drop what he’d insinuated as quickly.
It was a valid question. Katsu would never fault him for that.
“I changed your clothes. Ichirou didn’t let them touch longer than they needed to,” Katsu said. Nathaniel snorted.
“Forgive me for asking,” he said, a wry smile pulling at his mouth.
“Ichirou wasn’t even in the room.” Nathaniel looked like he wanted to call bullshit but his exhaustion won out. Katsu sighed and took a seat on the floor, leaning against the vanity.
Nathaniel looked at him like he was on fucking crack.
“Do I smell, or something?” Katsu asked.
It took a minute, but Nathaniel almost, almost smiled. Then he leaned forward and sniffed the air, before shrugging and leaning back.
“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Katsu said, not unkindly. Nathaniel rolled his eyes.
“I’ve been told,” he said. A reverent look passed his features. Katsu rested his elbows on his knees.
“Let me explain something to you,” he said. “Nathaniel–”
“Neil,” he responded. Katsu paused. Nathaniel's eyes dared him to argue.
“Neil,” he said. Nathaniel did a tiny nod, not looking embarrassed, but he kept his eyes downcast. Katsu knew he was waiting for a strike. “Huh, that’s much better. Nathaniel was a fucking mouthful.”
“Did Riko tell you that?” Nathaniel asked, his eyes seeming a fraction more alive. Katsu knew it wasn’t because of what they were talking about, but how. Katsu grunted a laugh.
“Please. Riko’s head is too far up his own ass for me to hear him.” Nathaniel gaped at him. “What?” His mouth closed, but his expression didn’t change. “This is part of what I wanted to explain.”
“Should I get a notepad and pencil out?” Nathaniel asked.
“Can you not keep up?”
“I can, but you deserve my undivided attention.” Sarcasm was an artform, to Katsu; one that Nathaniel apparently understood.
“If you wanted a nude model to draw, you could’ve just asked,” Katsu said. Nathaniel scoffed, almost… fondly.
“Confident, much?”
“Not confident,” he said. “I’ve been in too many… situations to have any self-respect or embarrassment. But, sure, we can go with ‘confidence.’”
For all the times Nathaniel looked at him, this was the first time Katsu thought Nathaniel actually saw him.
“Amen,” Nathaniel whispered.
“Are you going to close your goddamn mouth and listen?” Katsu asked.
“No promises. I don’t think I’m physically capable. Have you met my father?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have. Not impressed.”
“With me or him?”
“Mm, both.” Nathaniel flipped him off. “Kidding, kidding. Him, clearly.”
“What did you want to tell me?” Nathaniel asked.
“This—here—with Ichirou is very different from the Nest,” Katsu started. He knew the scars Nathaniel had, he could guess what they were from. He saw the hidden mental scars he had, and Katsu was pretty damn sure he knew where those came from, too. “I won’t bullshit you and say that those forms of torture won’t happen, because they will. If not to you, then you’ll be watching it happen to someone else.”
Nathaniel wouldn’t look at him, his breath moving a little faster than it should.
“However, you are now with Ichirou. That relationship changes your entire life. This brand on the back of your neck marks you as nearly untouchable to anyone who doesn’t want to fuck with Ichirou—which, let’s be honest, is pretty much everyone if they have half of a brain cell. Now, you might only have a quarter of a brain cell–”
“Fuck you, Katsu,” Nathaniel threw at him. He was breathing better, though. Goal achieved.
“I need you to hear me, Neil. You are as ‘high security’ as it can get.” Nathaniel’s eyes were wide, like he couldn’t fully understand what he was saying. Tough luck, kid. He had to stick it out. “You are in the safest and most dangerous position you could be in. You’re not on your knees for Ichirou—that is deadly, but not necessarily dangerous. You’re not above Ichirou—Kengo is the only person, and he won’t hold that position for much longer.”
“Why?” Nathaniel asked before he could continue.
“He’s sick. I doubt he’ll make it to the end of the month,” Katsu said. Nathaniel nodded. Katsu assumed he didn’t have an issue talking casually about death. “Ichirou runs the business. Kengo will hold the title until he dies. You will hear a lot of information in the main branch that you cannot share.
Back to what I was saying. Ichirou has power that most people can’t even imagine. And you, Neil, are now next to him. You are the most valuable asset and his greatest liability. Riko can’t touch you. Anyone with a foot in the mafia world will take one look at that mark and stay as far away as they can. Even Nathan can’t touch you.”
Nathaniel started to shake his head. Katsu reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Trolli gummy worms. He opened it and popped two in his mouth before offering them to Nathaniel. Katsu needed a fucking sugar rush before he dove into the next part of the conversation. He only started speaking again after Nathaniel hesitantly grabbed a few.
“Stay with me for this, okay?” Nathaniel nodded. “You are, depending on how you look at it, ‘safe’ from everyone but one person. Ichirou can tell anyone to do anything to you and they will do it. After people see you with Ichirou, as fucked as it is, many are going to want to do things to you and a few might try. They won’t get far, but I don’t need to tell you that a lot of hurt can happen in a short amount of time. And if you do something wrong, Neil, Ichirou can grant them permission to do what they want.”
“Ho– how often?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It depends. If you and Ichirou are going strong, and you’re true to each other, then rarely, if not ever. He can see right through you. It’s going to take time to find a rhythm, because even I don’t know what he wants, and I’ve known him since I was fourteen. It won’t always be this way.” Nathaniel looked like he wanted to laugh.
“What does he get out of this?” he asked. Katsu shrugged.
“Don’t fault me for this, Neil, but you are beautiful. That’s one thing. You’re also very smart. You can translate. You are also the picture of loyalty.” Katsu paused, gathering a few of his thoughts. “You’re a double edged sword. Ichirou gets to show that he is a loyal, reasonable, and dare I say ‘kind’ person. And, with that, he can show off his influence. Ichirou is unwavering strength and cruelty, and you will do anything he says—from sitting on his lap to cutting into yourself. ”
They were silent for a minute. Katsu watched Nathaniel work through that in his head. He offered the bag of gummy bears again and, to his mild surprise, Nathaniel took some.
“I don’t care if you believe me—I haven’t held any punches, so you might as well—but Ichirou is a reasonable person. He’s only a few years older than you. Does he make cruel decisions? Yes. Do I defend those? Yes. It’s my job. It’s my life. I’d willingly give my life for Ichirou. Do I agree with all of them? No.
This will come crashing down, Neil, and it will hurt. Then you will build back up with him. Only once. After you build a relationship with him, unless you do something so utterly fucking stupid, it won’t crash again. I will keep you from doing anything stupid.”
Katsu stared at Nathaniel. He didn’t know what was going through his head. It had been too long since Katsu’s mind hadn’t been a part of this that he didn’t remember what it was like. His situation, though, was very different from Nathaniel’s.
Nathaniel then looked at him, and gave him a small nod. Katsu took it for the ‘thank you’ neither of them would give. They were quiet for a few minutes, before Nathaniel broke it.
“Those are really good,” he said, gesturing to the gummy bears.
And Katsu—God kill him—smiled.
—
Kevin watched as Jean paced back and forth in Abby’s living room. It was nearing two in the morning and Jean hadn’t stopped talking. Kevin hadn’t really expected him to—it’s been about a year since he left, and even he hadn’t shut up about it (polite as always, Andrew).
“Explain it to me again,” Jean said.
Kevin groaned, dropping his forehead to his arm that rested on the kitchen counter. Jean pivoted at the left end of the entertainment center and turned around.
Like he had been.
For the past two hours.
Kevin had a bottle of vodka in his other hand. He would take another swig if he wasn’t so tired. A battle he had been so valiantly fighting for the past two hours. They got back around midnight. After graciously ignoring Wymack’s judgment, he downed half of the bottle and hadn’t managed many sips since.
Kevin knew Jean wouldn’t relent… but Jesus fucking Christ.
Kevin turned his head, glancing at the person he hadn’t seen in a year and… the person he hadn’t known for much longer than that.
“You have to believe that I wanted to get you both out, but I couldn’t,” Kevin said, sitting up. He shouldered the blame, gladly. He’d do just about anything for Nathaniel. “I planned this once I knew playing again was possible.” That part wasn’t a lie.
“And all that time you spent thinking after you fucking fled the Nest, you truly could not find a way to get Nath–”
“Jean…” Kevin sighed. “You know I would sell my soul for him. If I had stayed at the Nest, Riko would’ve kept me broken. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. And Nathaniel would’ve run himself into the ground to stop it.” He squared his shoulders and unconsciously flexed and unflexed his left hand.
Jean looked up at him, and Kevin wondered what he was looking for. Unfortunately, most of the person Jean had known didn’t exist anymore. Kevin barely recognized himself and he didn’t expect others to.
Jean’s facial expression shifted through multiple emotions before landing on some version of confused.
“You cannot fault me for fighting,” Jean said, his voice cracking at the words. Kevin didn’t ask why. He was too fucking tired and too fucking sober for this.
“I don’t.” Jean scoffed, shaking his head.
Kevin didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew he couldn’t give it to him.
“Would you honestly care if I hated you?” Jean asked. Kevin looked up, taken slightly aback by the question. Jean’s eyes were filled with so much hurt. It would’ve taken the breath from Kevin’s lungs a few years ago.
He could be reading into it, but somewhere among the despair, there seemed to be a flicker of relief. Jean was out of the Nest. Even his terror for Nathaniel couldn't outweigh the reprieve that came with being safe.
“No,” Kevin said.
“Would you care if he did?” Care wasn’t the right word. It would hurt, if Nathaniel hated him, and it would be Hell; but it wasn’t something he could change.
“No.” Jean didn’t move.
A few moments later, Jean sighed and ran his crooked hands over his face. A dark chuckle escaped his mouth.
“Fucking Riko,” Jean said. “What did he do to you, Kevin, when we were not there?”
Kevin watched the gears turn in Jean’s mind as he tried to understand the person Kevin became. Jean was seeing just how twisted this version of Kevin was, like a series of sick epiphanies when solving a puzzle with outdated pieces. Kevin wouldn’t help him if he had a gun to his head.
“If you break something,” Kevin started, “you can’t exactly predict how it tries to heal.” Jean took that for the dismissal it was.
“Nathaniel never broke.”
“He didn’t,” Kevin said. “That might be different, had I stayed.” Kevin watched Jean’s mask start to shudder, the ties holding his composure together frayed at the edges. He looked away, shoulders shaking and eyes glistening with tears he only shed in silence, and with Nathaniel on rare occasions.
This was all he had left.
Kevin stood, making his way towards Jean. His mind was unnaturally blank; a quiet he just recently developed. Kevin has yet to figure out if that was something good or not. That was Betsy’s job, not his.
He stepped into Jean’s space and brought his arms up. Jean’s eyes snapped to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, just above a whisper.
“Would you just hold still?” Kevin said. Jean looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, and Kevin took that as a good sign. Kevin wrapped his arms around Jean’s upper shoulders. He stiffened, but it didn’t last long. Kevin knew when someone was unraveling—he couldn’t let Jean shred apart without trying to hold him together.
Kevin knew, at that point in his life, that he wasn’t any good at comforting people. Riko reminded him of that after he discovered his relationship with Nathaniel. Every time Kevin wanted to tear down the walls, Riko said that Nathaniel was better off without him.
You can’t comfort people, Kevin. He’s fine on his own.
You’re broken—what good can you do?
You act as if you’re not damaged.
I know you don’t understand, but it’s stupid to think you could help him.
It’s better if you stay away, Kevin. You’ve seen what happens to people you care about. I’m the only one who can handle you.
He snapped back to the moment when Jean’s thinning resolve gave out. Jean almost fell into Kevin, circling his arms around his waist and letting his forehead fall on Kevin’s shoulder. His fingers gripped Kevin’s shirt.
Kevin couldn’t move. He felt occasional stabs of pain, though he knew it couldn’t be physical.
God, Kevin felt so empty. Riko was a bastard, but he was smart.
Kevin pulled away and grabbed the bottle of vodka off the floor. He took a few sips before making his way out of the room.
“Kevin, really? That is not heal–”
“You don’t get to judge how I cope,” Kevin threw over his shoulder, taking another sip. His vision started to fade a tad out of focus. Finally. “You can sleep on the couch. Leave the lights on, if you want. Wymack said he doesn’t care how much electricity you use.”
Kevin didn’t turn around. He went up the stairs and knocked on the guest room door. He knew Andrew would be awake—the stairs in Abby’s house weren't quiet. The door swung open a minute later. Kevin let Andrew stare at him, allowing him the time to figure out if he wanted to let him in or slam the door in his face.
It was a 40/60 shot, really, but Kevin didn’t mind.
Andrew eventually nodded and opened the door further. Kevin closed it behind him and lightly sighed, sliding against the door until he landed on the floor. Andrew was straddling the desk chair, his arms resting on the back, clad in a black hoodie and sweatpants.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was bothering him (though Andrew wasn’t far off from one). Just because tonight was one of the few times Kevin wanted to talk about the trainwreck inside his head, didn’t mean Andrew wanted to listen. He saw the question on Kevin’s face.
“Would I have let you in if I didn’t want to?” Andrew responded. Kevin shrugged.
“Do you ever just… want to?” Kevin paused, his mind flipping through images of his cuts like an old movie reel. It wasn’t unappetizing to him. Kevin didn’t really care either way. “It’s not that harmful,” he continued. After Andrew made a pointed look towards his armbands resting on his nightstand, Kevin nodded.
“Yes,” Andrew said.
“Why did you stop?” Andrew shrugged.
“There’s no point to it,” he responded. Kevin shook his head, letting it fall against the door behind him with a thud. “We had different circumstances.”
“But it’s the same addiction.” Andrew nodded. “I don’t get it. Where’s the harm? Skin heals.” Andrew shrugged, and Kevin thought he seemed a little distant. Kevin let the silence fall over them as Andrew sorted through whatever his mind decided to dig up.
“At some point,” Andrew said, “the benefit stopped being worth it. Fighting pain caused more pain. You get low enough that cutting and making a sandwich carry the same weight; the same energy. They’re both satisfying. It just depends on what you want to clean up.”
Andrew had MDD. Kevin knew Andrew lived in a ‘low’ most people experienced only a few times in their life. Kevin hadn’t actually seen what it did to him, but he picked up on a few of his tells over the past year.
One being Andrew’s attitude towards exy. When Andrew said he didn’t care about exy, he was being honest—just not in the way Kevin originally thought.
“Do you still do it?” he asked. Andrew was quiet for a bit.
“No,” Andrew said. He paused, then gave Kevin a little more. “Sometimes.” Kevin didn’t say anything until Andrew raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
“Not often,” Kevin said. Andrew waited. “Does it matter?”
“It does to you,” Andrew responded. “Or you wouldn’t be asking.”
“The Master never did it without a purpose.”
“He never made you do it without a motive.”
“I know. Even without him, the need is still there,” Kevin responded. He thought of the faint scars that lined the insides of his upper arms. They were barely visible—just a patch of skin that had more scar tissue than the rest. “Do you ever miss it?”
Andrew scoffed.
“Okay, not like ‘miss,’ but–”
“Yes,” Andrew said.
Kevin nodded, thanking Andrew in the only way he knew how. Andrew just shrugged, but it still meant more to Kevin than he would ever admit.
Kevin pushed off the floor, throwing an arm out against the door when he stumbled. Andrew spoke before he left the room.
“Kevin,” Andrew called. He looked over his shoulder, trying to get his sleep-deprived eyes to focus. “Give it time.”
Give yourself time.
He nodded. Kevin didn’t have much to give Andrew in return at that moment, but there was one thing.
“Nathaniel will still be there,” Kevin said. Andrew didn’t show any physical reaction, but Kevin grew up reading people’s eyes. He never knew for sure, with Andrew, but he tried. “He won’t let go of you a second time.”
Andrew had told Kevin a bit about his time with Nathaniel in juvie. And if Kevin knew Nathaniel at all… he would tear the world down before he lost that again. Nathaniel was feral, in the Nest, when something he cared about was going up in flames, enough to burn but never enough to die.
This wasn’t the same.
“Get out,” Andrew said. Kevin went to grab the vodka, but one look from Andrew had him leaving it on the ground.
—
Nathaniel glared at the ceiling of Ichirou’s bedroom, tossing a flip phone up in the air and catching it. Katsu suggested that he stay another night. Nathaniel scoffed, but relented. Ichirou wasn’t there, and Katsu didn’t seem like he wanted to do anything with Nathaniel… plus, Katsu slept in a different room. They didn’t seem worried about him running away.
They don’t need to be, Nathaniel thought, because I don’t want to.
Over the past twenty-four hours, Nathaniel hadn’t had much time to process the shitshow that took over his life. He rarely processed things in the first place, but one thought was glaring and painful. Nathaniel couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t want to run. It didn’t matter if he was only alive by the skin of his teeth—Nathaniel always ran.
Even last year, when Nathaniel was slowly killing himself, he still wanted to run. Nathaniel would’ve traded everything to get out. You couldn’t run from the Nest—absolutely not. He’d tried, and he landed his ass in juvie before spending a few honorary nights with Nathan and Lola. Nathaniel wasn’t actively trying to die (fuck you, Jean, for claiming otherwise), but some part of him had been working and thinking and planning, and it all stemmed from his innate need to run.
Out of everything to have an existential crisis over—Riko’s torture, Jean escaping, the burning, Andrew—Nathaniel didn’t know what to do with the newfound empty space within himself. He could practically hear Drew calling him an idiot who’s priorities were all screwed up. Nathaniel would have responded with something snarky, like, I enjoy obsessing over my priorities, because I get to think about you. Drew might’ve punched him, for that, and Nathaniel would’ve let him.
Nathaniel could piece together why he no longer wanted to run—logically, at least. He was branded, for one, and everyone who mattered knew the Moriyama kamon.
Second, the threats in his life were shifted. Down or up, Nathaniel wasn’t sure. He was safer yet also in more danger. That made sense. Absolutely.
Nathaniel threw the phone and caught it.
Third, Nathaniel truly didn’t have anywhere to run to. At the end of the day, the Foxes existed, and Nathaniel (theoretically) always had the option of running there. It wouldn’t turn out well, but the thought wasn’t terrifying. Jean being there severed any tie he had to that possibility.
Fourth, his mother was dead. Awesome.
Fifth, Stuart couldn’t reach him anymore. Stuart had tried, years ago, but Nathaniel cut him off before he could get too close. After his mom died, Stuart wanted to take Nathaniel as far from the Moriyama empire as he could get… which obviously meant he would become a part of the Hatford crime family. Nathaniel didn’t entertain it. Theoretically (again), Stuart could’ve bartered for Nathaniel’s life because the Hatfords and the Moriyama’s work together. Stuart Hatford, however, had nothing on Ichirou Moriyama.
He tossed the phone. Caught it. Did it again.
Sixth… fuck this.
Nathaniel sighed and pressed his hands to his face, rolling to the side so the phone fell on the pillow next to him. The room smelled like Ichirou—it was pretty nice, in all honesty. Nathaniel didn’t have too many bad memories tied directly to him.
He pushed off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. The light flicked on automatically, and he met his father’s eyes in the mirror.
Nathaniel looked intimidating. He would know, because the sight of Nathan still crippled him with terror, among other things. His hair was now shaved on the sides (courtesy of Katsu) which pushed the shadow of his father a little further.
Who was he kidding? Nathaniel could be his father’s twin if he were younger.
He was unapproachable, but in a different way than Jean. His—wait, not his, anymore—French bastard was more of the dark and mysterious type, with an arsehole demeanor. Nathaniel, though, was lethal. Danger was etched into his features and chiseled from the man that maimed and tortured and amputated and cut for fun.
As Nathaniel watched the face across from him smile… he understood why. His look didn’t sicken him. It made Nathaniel flinch. It made his mother flinch. Jean shied away from him when they originally met. Kevin worked through the fear before they passed age six. It made Stuart do a double-take. It made Lola want to take him to bed.
He was terrifying.
Nathaniel didn’t feel that way.
He felt the least threatening he’d ever been.
There was one person that didn’t look at Nathaniel with disgust or fear. He saw Nathaniel and stepped closer. Terror was the farthest thing from his mind.
When the eyes in the mirror became glassy at the thought, Nathaniel turned away.
He looked down at the phone and walked over to Ichirou’s desk.
Nathaniel,
Use this cream to help with the mark. I’ll leave Jeremy Knox’s number below, in case you want to give him a call.
I will be back for the game at the end of next week.
Call Katsu if you need anything. He has a phone for you. I am speed-dial one, and Katsu two.
Practice hard. Pull your rank in the Nest if you need to.
–Ichirou
Nathaniel knew the best place for him was next to Ichirou. He just had to get there.
Let the games begin, Nathaniel thought.
CH7: Crossing Out the Good Years
Jeremy sat at the table in the Trojan lounge/media room, his feet kicked up on a rolling chair across from him. The screen of his Mac glared at him with untouched schoolwork, and despite his good—albeit pathetic—effort, Jeremy wasn’t getting anything done.