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“Could this have been love? Grant it to be one form of love, for even though at first glance it seemed to retain its pristine form forever, simply repeating that form over and over again, it too had its own unique sort of debasement and decay. And it was a debasement more evil than that of any normal kind of love. Indeed, of all the kinds of decay in this world, decadent purity is the most malignant.”
– From Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask
He had always been drawn to those boyhood ideals of strength and power and so it should have come as no surprise to learn that he had become attracted to Harai Kuko. He was all of his storybook heroes come to life, a force of nature unstoppable and fierce, made better by the simple, unshakeable fact that he was someone alive and real.
He was incredible. There was an overwhelming freedom that possessed him and dictated his every move, that influenced the way he talked and used his words, and Ichiro… he couldn’t help but get swept up in the impact of it all.
Before long, thinking about Kuko was all he was able to do. And so it was easy to become consumed by him, too.
At first, it was harmless, safe. Surely, he thought, it wasn’t some sin to be caught thinking about him this way, to imagine him as some kind of hero he felt desperate to impress and win the respect of.
But then the shame would overtake him. He’d come to realize that thinking about him so much could start to become dangerous, too.
Because what would he do if he was found out? It could happen at any moment and knowing that was both a terrifying and thrilling prospect to him.
Because thinking about Harai Kuko, and admiring him as blatantly as this, it awakened some forbidden part of himself, a part that sang loudly, as if it had suddenly found a voice after being mute for so long. Thinking about Kuko and picking him apart; finding all the bits and pieces about him that worked – it made Ichiro feel like he was worth knowing, too. Like he had, overnight, become the holder of all the world’s treasures and secrets, even if it was a chest that contained only this fired-up trainee monk from Nagoya.
Because Ichiro was nothing like Kuko.
The more his mind returned to these feelings, the more this became clear to him.
The more he thought about Kuko, the less time he had to think about himself.
Because Ichiro was nothing like Kuko.
So he continued to think about him. Thinking nothing of it at first until one day, he waded too far into the waters. Lost himself completely in the memories he kept securely in his head, taking them out carefully like he was watching a highlight reel of everything he wanted and wasn’t. His mind going off on its own now, his body moving entirely by itself.
Until a jerk and a tug, sensations rendering him helpless.
Until a grunt, then a shout of release.
Until his hand came away sticky with shame and regret, giving Yamada Ichiro only a moment of relief until the next time he found himself feeling low and alone. Until the next time he pulled away from the world to return to the safe confines of his bedroom.
He didn’t want to delude himself into calling this something like affection or admiration, some little kid’s words to talk about some unrealistic being they could only talk to at a fansign.
This was something else. Something hotter and meaner, something that made him feel good and disgusted at the same time. Something that felt natural to him and yet left him lacking.
He could point to no specific moment that clapped like lightning above him, blinding him with the realization that he might like his best friend more than what was necessary and normal. Instead, it was a series of waves, rolling in against the shore and pounding away at the sand and rocks to reshape them in entirely new ways. Rugged ways, worn and beaten with time and such force.
He was those jagged rocks on the beach, halfway between their past forms and their sea-crushed states. He, too, was the angry wave crashing itself repeatedly against a surface hard enough to handle the pressure. He searched for release, endlessly, even if he had to beat someone else to get it – and if he couldn’t find that, then he could always come back to himself when the day was over.
Himself… Ichiro could spend hours holding it within a loose fist, admiring and marveling at it in a sick fashion. His fist, acting as the prelude to a motion that had almost become second nature to him these days.
His cock was a strange thing. His dick, his member, his little junior – street names, all of them, not because he didn’t know what it was actually called, but because calling it anything else would make it seem more real to him. For Ichiro, hesitant to even give these strange new feelings a name because he feared the power that would give them, real meant that it was scary. It meant that it could hurt him. It meant that he would have to deal with it. So he learned to soften the blow by using the hardest words he knew.
It got easier if he was able to convince himself none of it was real, even if he already had it all over him. In his hands, on the tip of his tongue, running across his mind, all day, every day.
He could hold it between his fingers, he could pump it and make it weep, but none of this was any realer to him than the possibility of either of his parents walking back through his door. This was just playtime for him, a little make-believe, a little fantasizing, and so long as nobody else found out about it then he was safe. So long as he was able to take it into his hands and control it, make it do whatever he wanted, then he could at least say he’d been able to get a handle on the situation.
Except…
This playtime, it was a little flawed, because it only worked if it was with Kuko. He’d tried to do the same with a million others – other girls, ones he saw on the street, the drawings in whatever stray manga volume he could get his hands on – but none of them ever felt the same. There was no thrill, no passion, none of those things that made his heart shake and stutter before finally bursting out of his throat to paint shameless stains upon the wall.
None of it worked if it wasn’t Kuko because only Kuko was capable of arousing such feelings in him. Kuko was strong – so incredible and powerful and amazing, so he was able to make Ichiro go weak in the knees and gasp through the hole that had been blown right into his chest, even when he wasn’t there. The moment his mind drifted to Kuko, it was like his body already knew what to do.
Ichiro hated that. He hated to be so powerless. Certainly, it wasn’t the strong thing to do, to catch feelings for someone he knew to be a friend and then go behind their backs to do the grossest things when they weren’t looking. He was ashamed and embarrassed to even find this side of him, one that was both entirely reliant on what Kuko might think of him if he knew, yet stubborn enough to want to stand on its own with or without his approval.
And it was strange because when he was with Kuko out there on the streets, he felt more liberated, more free, more of whatever Kuko was.
But without him there, when it was just Ichiro by himself, he would become… less, in so many other ways. Less and more, all at the same time, and the endless tug-of-war inside his mind was enough to keep him awake at nights.
Still, he yielded to it every time. Still, he would become completely disgusted at what he’d done with the friend he kept stored in his mind.
What would Kuko do if he found out?
He would ask what it was about him that made him so special to Ichiro.
And Ichiro would laugh and attempt to shrug it off. He’d tell him it was because he was so cool and awesome.
Strong, he’d tell him. You’re so strong, Kuko.
And Kuko would laugh.
And Kuko would throw it right back at Ichiro’s face.
You idiot, Kuko would say, you’re just a dumb idiot with rocks for brains.
Ain’t nothin’ to it, being strong, he’d say. You’d know that, right?
All this time we’ve been trackin’ down punks and givin’ ‘em the business. We’re the Naughty Busters, aren’t we?
Yeah, Ichiro would say to move the conversation along, already regretting that he’d brought it up at all.
But Kuko was stubborn. He wasn’t going to stop until he got the answer he wanted. Unless… he’d say.
Unless –
Unless that meant Ichiro was attracted to him only because Ichiro was so weak.
Weak.
Impossible. There was no way he was –
How else could he have survived all on his own if he was so –
You’re an eyesore and a coward.
He was nothing like Kuko.
You make me sick.
He makes himself sick.
His body was moving on its own again and Ichiro would not have been able to breathe then and he would look back down at what his hand was doing, pulling and twisting every which way, harderfasterstronger, leaving him gasping, moaning, making all the stupidest sounds he didn’t know he was capable of until –
– until he’d come again.
Sick, he told himself, forcing Kuko to stay there in his mind for one last admonishment. You make me so fuckin’ sick.
He had other ways of release. Other ways to let his stress out. He prowled the streets, looking for some action. Sometimes he'd stand tough and mean, waiting for the trouble to come to him.
Today, he was with Kuko. They had also been with several other tough guys, but they were an afterthought now, face-down in the dirt like they deserved.
Kuko looked down at them and laughed. “That’s another job well done for today!” he declared. “I wish I could pray for the fools, but like Buddha says, you can pray for the ants, the birds, an’ the trees. But a man with his ears plugged in? Sometimes that’s when you just gotta take action.”
“Liar. He didn’t say that.”
“How would you know? ‘S not like you pray or anything.”
Ichiro took his chance to gloat, not for the first time that afternoon. “Ha! Don’t need to. You saw how I took care of business. Who needs divine intervention when all I need’s my Mic?”
“Heh. And they don’t even know what hit ‘em,” Kuko agreed. “Come on, let’s bounce.”
They walked.
“Could kill for a burger right now,” Ichiro admitted.
“Yeah, me too,” Kuko said. “And some fries. And some cola.”
Ichiro grinned. “You know it.”
They continued to walk.
“Say,” Kuko said. “It’s not like you have to tell me or anythin’. It’s fine if you tell me to butt out of your business.” Looked up at him seriously now and Ichiro knew right then that Kuko didn’t really mean that; that he absolutely wouldn’t let this go even if he was told to buzz off.
It was Kuko who broke eye contact first. Looked away and scratched his ear, making it look like he didn’t actually care. “You, uh… You doing okay lately?” he asked.
It wasn’t what Ichiro was expecting to hear. “Huh?” he asked back.
“What, you gone deaf in the ear or something?” Kuko said. “I was asking if everything was okay with you!”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ichiro huffed. “What makes you think I’m not?”
Kuko frowned and gave him a look. “Come on, man,” was all he said.
Don’t bullshit me, was what he wanted to say and Ichiro knew it. It annoyed him that Kuko felt like he had to hold back for his sake. “I’m good,” he said. “That okay enough for you?”
“Tch, whatever.” Kuko snorted and looked away again. “You’ve been a little pent-up.”
Ichiro stopped walking. “What?” he said.
Kuko, knowing a challenge when he heard one, also stopped walking and turned to face him. “Man, you really are deaf today, huh?” he said. “I said, you’ve been a little pent-up. That good enough for you?”
Ichiro froze. What would Kuko do if he found out? “Shut up,” he said. “You don’t know shit.”
“Damn straight I don’t know shit!” Kuko barked. “It’s ‘cos you’re not tellin’ me nothing! I thought we were friends.”
“We are.”
“I thought we were partners.”
He nearly choked on his own breath. “P – partners,” he repeated.
“Oh, so that one you hear just fine.”
“Shut up,” Ichiro said, finding his voice again. “This is the last time I’ll tell you. Stay out of my business. You don’t know shit about anything.”
Kuko glared at him and snarled, like he was sniffing things out. Eventually, he backed down, but not without making sure Ichiro knew how mad he was about it. “Fine,” he said. “You don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine. But if you screw up and get your head kicked in – ”
“I won’t.”
“ – Don’t count on me to save your sorry ass.”
Ichiro, knowing a lie when he heard one, grinned and relaxed his stance. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
“I’m serious!”
“I said, okay!”
“Hey, yo, seriously. Fuck you.”
“That in Buddha’s teachings too?”
Kuko laughed. “Maybe if you drop by the temple, you’ll find out.”
Ichiro snorted. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll drop dead first.”
“Suit yourself.” The matter settled for now, Kuko turned around and continued to walk, trusting Ichiro would follow. “You still up for that burger?” he said when he felt Ichiro catch up next to him.
“You kidding me?” Ichiro said.
An accumulation of moments. An almighty struggle between feeling less and more when it came to the guy.
Inside Ichiro, a typhoon continued its assault. But he kept his peace and maintained his calm, all the way until they got their burgers and all the way until he went back home to call it a night. If he woke up the next morning reaching for his tissues again, then that was just going to have to be another secret he was taking with him to the grave.
This matter of Harai Kuko, it was hard to tell anymore where it all started and ended. It was a series of somethings that crept up on him, silently and stealthily, like a scar that starts to sting seconds after you’ve been sliced.
And Ichiro, he really should have known better. But he had never seen the knife coming and now he was cut open and laid bare, out there for everyone to see.
Things got bad until they got worse until the shit finally hit the fan. This time, it was Kuko who was holding the knife. All that time they’d spent together, Ichiro realized he’d always been holding the knife. He was just too much in denial to do anything about it.
Kuko, looming over him now and looking down on him like he wasn’t worth his time. Kuko – strong, magnificent Kuko – with his Hypnosis Mic in hand, standing there and giving him the business. Kuko who didn’t want a damn thing to do with –
“ – you! We had a good run, but as of today, this partnership is officially busted. So just stay the hell away from me, Ichiro. You understand?”
He wasn’t talking like himself. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t Kuko.
“Ha! Sounds like someone needs another wake-up call. You sure you want that? Huh? Want me to hit you with another one?”
Snap out of it, why wasn’t he snapping out of it –
“Suck it up, dude. We’re over. Didn’t need you around to pull me down anyway.”
Weak, Ichiro was –
“I’m leaving. An’ don’t you dare come after me or I’ll kill you!”
– weak and useless and pathetic.
All he wanted was to become strong. Strong, like Kuko was, without having to rely on anyone else’s say-so. Strong, so he could stand up for himself and his brothers.
He went home that night and fell face-first to his bed, not feeling very much like moving. His hands lay listlessly at his sides. His body pounded with aches and emotions he was too exhausted to release. Something else was leaking now and Ichiro lifted a bruised hand to swipe at the tears that had started to fall.
Weak. Why in the hell had he been so goddamn weak? He was disgusting. He was an embarrassment. He was a stain upon all of humanity. Just who the hell did he think he was?
It was like this that he sank into sleep that night, his mind screaming at him with all the day’s memories until everything faded to black and Ichiro thought of nothing no longer.
He was a hypocrite. He was Yamada Ichiro, the new and improved MC Big Brother, leader of the Buster Bros!!!, and he was a hypocrite.
They’d met again, of course. Things always did have a way of coming right back around. It happened with him and Samatoki. Today, it was happening with him and Kuko. Another heated moment, another staredown. Only this time, it was in the Chuohku stadium hallways and not across each other on the battle stage as they’d hoped.
He’d tried not to think about him too much since that day, and Ichiro liked to think he was stronger now, not at all like the weak brat he used to be, clinging on to the whims of somebody who was never going to give him the time of day anyway.
But hell – he missed Kuko. He’d gone and started seeing him as some kind of handsome ideal and now, he was paying the price for it.
Kuko, now Nagoya’s leader of Bad Ass Temple. Defeated, but still looking proud and defiant. There wasn’t anything about him you could call weak in that moment, and Ichiro looked on with some kind of wonder. He was seeing him for the first time in a long while, and he didn’t want to miss a detail.
“Don’t give me that look,” Kuko snarled, mistaking his expression for pity. “You look at me like that again an’ I’ll bust your face in.”
Ichiro, red-faced at the first words his ex-partner had ever said to him since back then, adjusted to make it look like he’d been scowling instead. “Kuko,” he said.
“Ichiro,” he answered, sneering. “Don’t worry, you’ll get yours soon. Nobody gets to beat your ass but me. You hear that? Nobody.”
Just like old times. Ichiro grinned, unable to help himself. “Yeah, I hear you,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”
“You get their asses. Get ‘em all. Show ‘em who’s the real tough guy around here.”
“Heh. You got it, partner.”
Despite the bruises on his face, Kuko lit up and smiled. “Partner,” he repeated. “Ain’t heard that one in so long.”
Daring to get familiar now, Ichiro huffed and went for it. “That’s ‘cos you never call.”
“What, and listen to you give me shit for that time I – ”
Cut himself off right there. Neither of them were ready to talk about it yet.
But at least they were talking again.
“Say, after the DRB,” Ichiro started, taking the initiative this time. “If you’re free, we can… hang out, if you want.”
Kuko snorted. “Hmph! I’m gonna hold you to that,” he said. “Just don’t show up an’ cry to me after you get your ass kicked.”
“After my ass gets kicked? What happened to me getting what’s mine?”
“Don’t be in such a damn rush to fill your bucket, ignorant one. You’re standin’ under a waterfall, ain’t ya? Plenty of water there for everybody.”
“What the hell? That another one of those phony things they preach at the temple?”
“You keep badmouthin’ Buddha like that an’ I might have to do something about it.”
“Oh, I wish you would!”
Water that had burst forth from a dam, now flowing serenely under the bridge. Ichiro, feeling strong and proud again in a way he hadn’t felt in some time, knew this was him trying to act tough in front of Kuko. Maybe his friend was trying to do the same. Both of them, trying to stand tall and prove to themselves that the last months hadn’t happened at all, even if the effects were still clearly there.
But that was all over now. For today, at least, they could stand in front of each other as equals again, even if they would have to bust each other’s asses to do it.
Strong. They could both be strong together.
And Ichiro could breathe a sigh of relief.
“You better not let me down, Ichiro,” Kuko scoffed, holding his fist out.
“You just watch, Kuko. I’ll give you a show you won’t forget.” Ichiro grinned and bumped his fist against his.
He didn’t think he’d missed Kuko so much, but here he was again. After going so long without once thinking about him, he was all of a sudden back in his thoughts again, blazing wildfires across the wasteland Ichiro thought he’d left dead and buried.
He guesses he shouldn’t have been surprised. Since that day, since the DRB, since getting all these people suddenly back in his life again after the battles – through it all, and as long as strength would remain his ideal, Kuko would always remain his constant. For the first time in months, Ichiro felt himself daring to hope again.
“Harai Kuko’s a really cool guy, isn’t he?” Jiro, saying this to him after they’d had their big Mic-less concert.
“That’s right,” Ichiro said.
“I think it’s cool, you know?” Jiro continued. “That you ‘n him were a team back then. I think that’s really cool.”
“Yeah?” Ichiro grinned. “You’re just saying that ‘cos I’m your big bro.”
“Well, yeah!” Jiro said. “But also, I think the two of you’re pretty cool. And that’s good enough for me!”
It should have been enough for Ichiro too, he realized. Because wasn’t that what they used to be? What they’d always been? Equals and rivals. Making each other feel more in spite of what they still lacked. And now that he'd become a proper team with his brothers and Kuko had done the same for himself all the way in Nagoya...
Ichiro was a hypocrite. Going on and on about feeling small and weak with Kuko around when he should have known better to see things the whole other way around. Why was there ever any need for someone to be stronger, for someone to submit? Why couldn't they just be stronger on their own? With themselves? Why hadn’t he figured this shit out sooner?
“You’re a cool guy too, you know?” he said, looking right into Jiro’s eyes as he said this. He wanted to make sure he was hearing every word. “You stood on the same stage as him and gave him your best shot. That’s the most awesome thing, bro. I’m proud.”
Jiro blushed immediately, but he was just as quick with his response. “Heh,” he said. “I’m only cool ‘cos my big bro is cool. So it checks out!”
“Yeah,” Ichiro said. He ruffled his hair, wanting to transfer some of his own warmth to his younger brother. “Yeah, that’s right.”
But Kuko was still a plague on his mind. And there was still a storm raging within Ichiro, the winds howling for relief and release.
If he was ever going to get anywhere, then he was going to have to take that first step. Trust in Kuko enough to know that he would catch up to him if there was anything he didn’t understand, and that he wouldn’t do anything stupid if it happened that he did not feel the same.
It was time to be strong now. It was time for Ichiro to wake up and get out of his bedroom.
Inside now at the Yamada household, just the two of them there. Jiro and Saburo out in town with Aimono Jyushi, who Kuko had brought along to visit Ikebukuro that afternoon. Just like he used to. Just like he never left.
It was now or never.
“Kuko,” Ichiro said. “Listen to me.”
For once in his life, Kuko shut up to listen.
“I’ve been having these… these feelings. Well – used to have them, more like. But they were weird ones. Maybe a little fucked up. They – they made me do things. Sometimes on my own, without my body tellin’ my brain first what it wants to do before it – before it – ”
“Yeah,” Kuko said, cutting in. Unclear if he also knew what Ichiro was talking about or if he’d said that to hurry him along. “Yeah.”
“... But it’s not bad, you know, that I have these feelings,” Ichiro continued. “It’s just… I had to get used to them for a while, that’s all. And I guess now, I’m okay enough to tell you about it.”
“Yeah,” Kuko said again.
“That’s it?” Ichiro said. “I tell you what’s been in my head all this time and – ”
“An’ what d’you want me to say, huh?” Kuko challenged. Always with the challenge, always like he had something to prove. When had Ichiro ever given him reason to try and prove himself to him? “You think you’re having feelings. I don’t even know what kinda feelings those are an’ you’re just asking me to – ”
Ichiro grabbed him by the front of his jacket and all but shouted into his face, “I like you, okay? And I want to kiss you. Is that okay?”
A beat passed.
Looking directly into his face now, so close they could feel their breaths on each other, Ichiro watched Kuko’s eyes go comically wide with shock. He watched his friend draw breath through his nose, watched him narrow his eyes again before casting them away to some distant point off towards Ichiro’s side.
Waited until he bit out more than he said, “Do what you want” – like he wasn’t interested. Like he was bored with the idea.
But Ichiro saw his tongue run across his lips. And he saw his cheeks start to redden with blush. Kuko had wanted to look strong then. That’s why he said it like that.
That was fine. That was all he needed.
Ichiro surged forward to kiss him.
He’d wanted to look strong, too.
He kissed him. And then felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs when he felt Kuko start to kiss back.