Chapter Text
“…and how did that make you feel Eijiro, as a young boy growing up in such a small town? How did being on the receiving end of so much hate make you feel?”
Eijiro fidgeted at the hem of his shirt, looking everywhere but at his therapist until the warmth in his chest rose. “Angry,” he answered, jaw tight. “It made me angry.”
****
Eijiro walked out of his first therapy session, his eyes damp and red, swiping his card at the front desk while wiping at his face. It felt odd, the mundane task of paying for the session, as if it were somehow out of place after all the emotions he’d just bared. He found himself wishing they’d just emailed him a link so he could pay from the comfort of his apartment and cry in peace. It had been a month since he’d moved to San Diego, and while the city’s stunning blue coastline offered a breathtaking contrast to the harsh winters of Nome, Alaska, he still felt like a stranger here. He hadn’t made any real connections yet, though he’d found work at a small garden shop in the Barrio called You Grow, Girl . The job had fallen into his lap unexpectedly. He’d been wandering the streets, admiring city art, when the quirky name of the shop caught his eye from across the street.
Out front, a woman who he would soon learn was the store’s owner was struggling to lift a heavy bag of soil while juggling the door. Without thinking, he rushed over to help, and by the time he left the shop, he had $20 in his pocket and a new job secured. The woman, Chiyo, had insisted on the money, telling him she could "use those muscles" helping her around the store, and he hadn’t been in any position to turn her down. Rent was high, and his savings wouldn’t last more than two more months even if he lived below his budget. So, he nodded and agreed, even though he hadn’t really planned to start working so soon.
With the $20 still in his pocket, Eijiro stepped into a nearby coffee shop. After unloading so many raw emotions onto a stranger who had asked him how he felt more times than he could count, he figured he’d earned a little reward in the form of a good cup of coffee.
He stood behind the one person in line, staring at the vast menu with way too many options, ignoring the fact that he looked like he had been crying. The tears hadn’t completely dried, and his face felt stiff, but he was too tired to care. He was bouncing between a cookie butter latte with extra cookies or a caramel iced coffee with double caramel, the quiet hum of the coffee shop buzzing in his ears, when it was abruptly interrupted by a sharp voice.
Eijiro blinked in surprise, jerking his head toward the sound. The guy behind the register was glaring at him, arms crossed, and brows furrowed in annoyance. His crimson eyes, startlingly intense, bored into Eijiro with impatience.
“Oh, um… sorry,” Eijiro muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I was just looking at your… uh… menu. First time here.”
“Clearly.” The man’s tone was clipped, dismissive.
Eijiro floundered for a moment, his fingers fidgeting nervously at his sides before he finally spoke up, trying to get his order out before the interaction became any more awkward. “Can I get a Cookie Butter Latte... extra cookie butter? Uh, extra cookie?”
The barista paused, tapping away at the screen, his expression unreadable for a moment.
“So, you’re one of those?”
Eijiro blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
The barista shook his head, a small movement that caused his blonde hair to shift loose from its clip at the back of his neck. Eijiro quickly glanced away, heat rising to his face as he avoided the stranger’s gaze. The man finished entering the order with a resigned sigh.
“$8.75.”
Without another word, Eijiro pulled the crumpled cash from his pocket and slid it across the counter, his hand moving almost mechanically.
The man stared at him, then at the money before taking it and sliding his change back across the counter. Eijiro grabbed it, tucked it in his pocket and shifted to the other end of the counter. The coffee shop was quiet, with some people in a corner reading and others on laptops doing work.
“Cookie Butter Latte, Extra fucking sweet for Red!”
Eijiro turned. “Red?”
The man raised his eyebrow, “You looked in a mirror this morning or are you always this obtuse?”
Eijiro shrugged. “No, I'm just used to being called other names.” He grabbed his drink, taking the change out of his pocket and leaving it in the tip jar, ignoring the confusion on the guy’s face as he walked away.
***
He walked up to the third floor of the small apartment he was renting. It was quaint, enough space for a bed and a couch and a small nook for him to read his favorite books. He wasn’t much of a cook, but there was a kitchen that had a lot of space. He knew how to make stir fry, meat loaf, grilled cheeses and quesadillas. And of course he could put a hot dog in a microwave. He wasn’t a chef by any means, but he could survive.
With a tired groan, he collapsed onto the couch, the one he had scored for just thirty bucks at a local thrift store, the cushions worn but comfortable. He stared up at the ceiling, the quiet of the apartment almost too much when juxtaposed against the noise of his thoughts. His memories circled like vultures, waiting to pick at the still raw wounds.
“What brings you here today, Eijiro?”
His gaze shifted around the room, his heart thudding in his chest. “I- I know I need to be here, I just…talking about it…I’m scared.”
“What is it that scares you?” the therapist had asked, his voice calm, patient.
“Being honest.”
“Why does that scare you?”
“Because…” he stammered, unsure of what protocol was for therapy but deciding to throw it all to the wind anyway. “Being honest almost got me killed.”
The words had come out more easily than he expected, but they still felt so very heavy.
Eijiro sighed deeply, rolling onto his side as if the act could physically remove the weight from his chest. His shirt shifted, riding up and exposing the scars that marred his back and abdomen. He hated looking at them. Hated that he had been so weak, that he had let it get so bad before he decided it was time to go.
He tucked his legs up against his chest, and unlocked his phone, scrolling through San Diego news first, before curiosity got the best of him, and he opened the website for the most popular news source in Alaska. He scrolled past local fishing updates, tourist information about glacier tours and the usual moose attacks until something caught his eye.
"Arsonist Burns Down Local Church – Suspect Still At Large"
Eijiro’s finger hovered over the screen, and despite the tremble in his wrist, he clicked on the article, his eyes scanning the text in a rush. His heart thudded in his chest as he read the headline, his mind swirling with images of the destruction.
“Three dead, five badly hurt, one missing. Local Police have expanded their search to Washington and Oregon. The recovered refuse to speak, police unsure of suspects’ motive. Authorities urge anyone with information to come forward.”
The words blurred together as he closed the article quickly, the reality of it crashing over him. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, every detail was seared into his memory. He tucked the phone into the couch cushions, trying to bury it alongside the things he couldn’t escape. But there was no running from the weight of everything he'd left behind.
His stomach churned. He stood up abruptly, rushing to the bathroom, the remnants of his Cookie Butter Latte with extra cookies coming up as quickly as he had finished it, disappearing down the drain, flushed away like he wished he could do with everything else.
Eijiro sat on the bathroom floor, tears pricked at the side of his eyes, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
“ What are the odds they’ll believe someone like you?” Monoma taunted, his voice travelling through the forest. “You killed your momma at birth, your daddy disowned you – if you just poof disappeared, no one would go looking.”
“I think you’re taking this too far Monoma” Kaibara shouted. “You said you just wanted to scare him.”
“IT! That THING is not a man, you hear me! You about to punk out on me, and act like those abominations?” Monoma’s head snapped to look at Kaibara who cowered. “If we let this abomination run loose, what message will that send to the children? Now where the hell did it go?”
“There’s a church up ahead,” Kaibara answered. “But I don’t think he’d go in there.”
Monoma cackled, stalking forward. “If it suddenly wants to find God, who are we as the Church to not help it out?”
He stumbled to the toilet, his stomach regurgitating until it was empty, and he was panting on the floor. On the tiled floor of his own apartment, in a new town, far away from everyone who ever knew him – who ever hated him - Eijiro felt so, so very small.