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A grayish cloud of smoke, the sky burning with an orange hue. It’s the third cigarette in a row to twirl between his fingers, already rough and yellowed from years of smoking.
A loud engine noise, dust rising from the floor. A blue 1985 Toyota Celica screeches to a stop in front of him, its tires skidding on the dirt, nearly spinning in place from the loose traction.
Ruki’s never seen that car in the trailer park where he’s lived with his father for nearly eight years. But its driver, oh, he knows him all too well.
Reita steps out of the car with a wide grin, brushing dust off his clothes as he strides toward Ruki.
“What is that?” Ruki asks, his questioning gaze darting from Reita to the Celica, from the Celica to Reita.
“It’s my new car!” Reita announces, gesturing proudly toward the dirty blue vehicle, pride shining in his gentle eyes. Then, a bit sheepish, he scratches the back of his neck. “Well... not exactly new, but it’s the best I could afford.”
Ruki exhales a stream of hot smoke through his lips, making no move to rise from the metallic steps leading up to his trailer.
“And why’d you even buy a car?”
Reita steps closer, stopping right in front of Ruki. The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced with an unwavering seriousness. He bends slightly to meet Ruki’s level, plucks the cigarette from his fingers, and extinguishes it on the ground.
“To get us out of here,” he says firmly. “Go inside. Pack your things. We’re leaving tonight.”
Ruki lets out an ironic laugh, his eyes, worn and melancholic from years of hardship, boring into Reita’s. The unspoken question in his gaze is met with a nod of reassurance as Reita sinks to his knees, dust clinging to his worn-out jeans. He takes Ruki’s hands in his own.
“You’re not serious,” Ruki mutters. But Reita’s expression doesn’t waver. His eyes never lie, and Ruki knows he means every word, no matter how unbelievable they sound.
Reita tightens his grip, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes, as gentle as always, now carry a flicker of desperation that doesn’t escape Ruki’s notice.
He knows Reita like no other.
“I’ve saved some money,” Reita says, his voice pitched higher than usual, betraying the tension coiled in his chest. “And you’ve got your savings from the convenience store. You and I can both get jobs somewhere else. Start from zero.” He lifts one of Ruki’s hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there, his gaze never leaving Ruki’s. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”
Eyes closed, Ruki sighs, head shaking in denial once, twice, three times.
Reita always sees things as so simple.
Buy a car. Leave the trailer park. Quit his job.
Leave family behind.
If it were that easy, Ruki would have done it long ago.
“Are you out of your mind?” Ruki whispers, eyes still shut, fists clenching beneath Reita's steady hands.
Gentle fingers brush against his eyelids—Reita’s silent way of asking him to open them and look at him. It’s always been like that between them.
Ruki does so, only to be caught in the depths of Reita’s gaze, those warm brown eyes that have always held him captive.
“We deserve more than this,” Reita says, voice low but firm.
Ruki feels the fabric of his sleeve being nudged upward.
He freezes, his breath hitching as Reita’s fingers caress the newly exposed skin of his pale arm.
“Rei...” he pleads, his voice fragile, pulling his arm back as though trying to hide it. As though Reita hasn’t already seen everything.
As though Reita hasn’t seen his soul laid bare multiple times before.
“You deserve better than this.”
The bruises don't hurt anymore. They did once, but they don’t matter now.
Ruki lowers his gaze, staring down at his hands. Perhaps, if he still had the ability to cry, the tears would come now. But even that seems beyond him.
And yet, there’s Reita, trying, once again, to give him a reason to smile.
“I can’t leave him,” Ruki says softly, his voice trembling with more emotion than he intended, his fingers fidgeting nervously. “He has no one but me.”
Reita’s hand tilts his chin upward, guiding him back to those all-too-familiar eyes. Ruki’s chest tightens.
Reita knows the power his eyes have on him.
Reita's eyes alone are reason enough for Ruki to smile. Perhaps the only reason.
“You’ve stayed long enough.”
Ruki knows that. He knows he could have done what his mother did—walked away, left his father behind. He could have said yes when she begged him to come with her, chasing a life that could offer them both something more.
But someone had to stay. Someone had to look after him. Without her and without Ruki, his father would have nothing. Absolutely no one.
So, he made his choice. He stayed. He dropped out of school, found a side job that paid just enough to scrape by and keep them afloat.
Seven years have passed, and he’s still here. Still stuck in the same place.
The only difference in his life now is Reita.
And what more could he possibly ask for? He already has more than he deserves.
“What time is he arriving today?” Reita’s voice pulls him out of his reverie. He notices Reita’s eyes drift to the liquor bottles spilling out of the open trash can, swarming with flies, in front of Ruki's trailer.
And those weren’t even the ones still inside—the ones littering the floor, stashed in the refrigerator. Countless.
On the horizon, the sun no longer exists. Night falls and darkness seeps in, leaving Reita as the only source of light.
Ruki clears his throat and rises from the stairs.
“Probably around eleven.”
Reita stands and gently grips his waist, pulling him close. Ruki feels the warmth radiating from him, takes a deep breath, and lets Reita's familiar, comforting scent fill his senses. He closes his eyes for a few moments longer, savoring it.
“Go inside and pack your things,” Reita says again, his voice calm, yet betraying a hint of unease. Ruki knows he’s nervous. “I’ll wait here for you at ten.”
Reita is afraid. Afraid that Ruki won’t come. Terrified, to say the least. Ruki feels it deep within himself, in the tension of Reita’s embrace, in every note of his voice, in every inch of his skin.
Ruki knows that just as he has no one but Reita, Reita has no one but him.
He pulls away from the hug, his gaze lingering on Reita’s conveying feelings so profound, emotions he’s not even aware of.
Turning, he climbs the stairs to his trailer. The key grates loudly in the lock, leaving rust stains on his hand. But just as he’s about to step inside, that voice—his anchor, his home—speaks softly behind him, “I love you, Ruki.”
He freezes. It’s not the first time he’s heard those words. Reita says them every day. But tonight, for some reason, they feel different.
“Don’t ever forget that.”
He closes the door behind him, letting his body slide against its cold, metallic surface.
Looking around, he sees the same he sees every day — an absence of perspective framed by empty bottles. Curtains and sheets, older than Reita’s newest car, hang in tatters. The couch where his father sleeps, riddled with food stains and drink spills, its fabric shredded by moths. His mattress, a thin layer on the floor, pocked with holes—the cause of his daily back pain.
The smell of alcohol hangs heavy in the air. It disgusts him, though less than it used to.
It feels as if every inch of the trailer screams at him, urging him to leave, telling him, in despair, to get out of there. To run away with Reita and leave this suffocating misery behind.
To finally see what it means to be living.
Ruki swallows hard, chest tightening as reality finally sinks in.
He has to make a decision, perhaps the most difficult of his entire life — leave tonight, or live and die this way.
“You’re here.”
Ruki can’t see Reita’s face as he slams the noisy car door shut, but the sound of his voice, relieved, brimming with pure joy, tells him everything. He knows Reita is smiling. That warm, open smile he saves for Ruki alone.
An arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close.
Reita’s lips on his feel like home. Like hope.
When they part, Ruki doesn’t want to let go. His eyes search Reita’s, finding them so bright and filled with indescribable happiness that it makes his chest ache.
If he could still cry from joy, maybe he would now.
“If I hadn’t come… would you have gone without me?”
The question feels foolish the moment it escapes his lips, but when Reita chuckles and leans in to kiss him again, the embarrassment melts away, replaced by something softer, safer.
It’s Reita, after all.
Between kisses, Reita murmurs against his lips, “I would never leave you.”
A soft laugh. The click of seat belts. Minutes later, the trailer park fades in the rearview mirror, becoming a memory buried in his past.
“Where are we going?” Ruki asks, watching through the Celica’s window as the night stretches out before them, swallowing the only life he’s ever known.
“Not far,” Reita says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Just across the border. There’s a shelter that’ll take us in until we get back on our feet.”
Ruki exhales slowly, but the tightness in his chest lingers.
He’s terrified. His hands tremble, his words falter.
The unknown scares him. His old life may have been miserable, but it was familiar. The only way of living he knew. He’d grown accustomed to it, even if it left him hollow.
At the first traffic light, Reita reaches over, turning the crank to fully open Ruki’s window. Before leaning back, he presses a soft kiss to Ruki’s forehead—warm, reassuring, unmistakably him. Reminding Ruki that the only good part of his past is still here, in his present. Holding him steady as they chase a future worth living.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Reita whispers.
Ruki lets go of some of the tension he’s been clinging to. He looks at Reita, and he knows he looks terrified, but he doesn’t bother to hide it. There’s no point—not from someone who knows him better than he knows himself.
“I love you,” Ruki says, voice cracking.
He sinks into the seat, shoulders sagging as a tentative smile curls his lips.
“I love you,” he repeats, meaning it more than ever. “Thank you.”
Reita nods and smiles without saying anything. No words are needed.
The engine hums louder as Reita accelerates. The cold night air rushes in through the open window, tousling Ruki’s hair into knots he couldn’t care less about.
City lights lie before them. Reita’s left arm grips the steering wheel, right arm wraps around Ruki’s shoulders.
And then, Ruki feels it. An impulse. Raw and exhilarating.
“Faster, Rei.”
Reita laughs, pressing down on the gas pedal. The old car groans in protest, its rusty engine straining for speeds it hasn’t reached in decades.
Reita’s laughter is music to Ruki’s ears, and soon he finds himself laughing too, leaning out the window as the cold wind whips against his face. Each gust feels like… freedom.
He’s free.
“Faster, Rei!”
A grin splits his face as he throws his head back.
Reita’s arm around him feels grounding. Ruki feels — no, he knows — that he truly belongs there.
“Faster!”
He closes his eyes, now moist, letting the wind carry him forward into uncertainty, into fear.
Into life itself.
It’s terrifying, yes, but also necessary. And exciting.
He has Reita by his side. That’s the only thing that matters.
The cold air stings his cheeks as tears spill freely, tears he thought he’d long forgotten how to shed.
He cries because, for the first time in his life, he feels that he can be someone.