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Ramuda is almost tolerable when he sleeps.  It’s a rare sight, the eighth wonder of the world as far as Jakurai is concerned—not that he would ever admit that out loud.  In sleep, Ramuda is everything he isn’t otherwise: soft, vulnerable, authentic.  Jakurai would call it angelic, if he believed in such things.Ramuda’s kept a nightmarish sleep schedule as long as Jakurai’s known him, and that doesn’t change even when Jakurai begins spending more nights than not in Ramuda’s cramped Shibuya apartment.  Get a real place, old man, Ramuda would say—but Jakurai had never taken house-hunting seriously after returning from the war.  Everything seemed too large, too empty, too lonely. Maybe I’ll just stay here, Jakurai had teased.  He got no complaint.So, Ramuda falls into to bed when the sun is already breaking, fully dressed.  And like clockwork, Jakurai wakes up an hour or so later, pulling off Ramuda’s shoes and jacket, tucking him under the covers and taking that moment to watch him sleep, Ramuda’s soft breath blowing the bangs off his face.  The knowledge that something so soft and small and pink could be Jakurai’s complete undoing was a thought he liked to keep buried, nestling it deep amongst the other skeletons in his closet.Maybe he knew their nights together were numbered, that one day the concept of the two of them sharing a bed without ending up at each other’s throats would be as likely as the sun setting in the east.  Maybe Jakurai even made his peace with that—as much peace as can ever be made around Ramuda.Except now, Jakurai wakes up to Ramuda’s sleeping face.  On a normal morning, with no fanfare, Jakurai blinks awake to see Ramuda lying across the bed, looking uncharacteristically serene, long eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheekbones.Curious.Very curious.  So curious, in fact, that Jakurai snaps awake so quickly he almost breaks his neck.   Palms sweaty, Jakurai sits at the edge of the bed, spine straight as an arrow, watching Ramuda’s sleep-soft form curl into the sheets.  It takes far longer than Jakurai wants to admit to tear his eyes away, counting off likely explanations on his fingers.A dream?  Unlikely.A hallucination?  Perhaps.  Jakurai has never experienced sleep paralysis; perhaps this is something akin.  But again, unlikely.A drunken accident?  Sadly, the likeliest option.Then, Ramuda opens his eyes and shatters any illusion Jakurai had that this was just a strange happenstance, something he could easily walk away from.“Mornin’,” Ramuda yawns, smacking his lips, “You look terrible.”That certainly sounds like Ramuda—but the voice is all wrong.  It’s nothing like his usual saccharine sing-song; it’s disturbingly normal, a lower timber that reminds Jakurai of when—“I’m going to shower,” Jakurai announces, moving abruptly toward the bathroom before finally realizing—this is not his bedroom.  Not his house.  It hardly feels like his life.“Uh,” Ramuda laughs, stretching out like a cat, half naked and pale against the bedsheets, “It’s the other way.”“I know.”  He definitely did not know, but Jakurai nods curtly and follows the hallway to what he realizes is Ramuda’s bathroom.  This part, at least, is vaguely familiar, a lost memory from a part of Jakurai’s brain he tries his best to keep locked away.  Knowing how to work someone else’s shower is, at the very least, a sign of great intimacy.  It comes back to Jakurai like riding a bicycle; an insignificance made significant.The hot water should do him good, should knock loose some explanation for what is going on and why, and why to him and why now and why Ra—“Amemura-kun!”“You’re formal,” Ramuda deadpans.  A very naked Ramuda.  A Ramuda who is now stepping into the walk-in shower.  The shower that is already occupied by Jakurai.  A Jakurai who is equally naked and wet and confused and h—“Hey, Jakurai—hey, look at me, are you okay?” Ramuda’s voice turns to concern, panic creeping in, and the last thing Jakurai thinks before passing out is that it’s nice to hear Ramuda call him by his name again. + “You finally killed him.  Incredible.”This time, Jakurai wakes up to the smell of cigarette smoke and a pair of ruby-red eyes peering down at him.“Samatoki-kun,” Jakurai groans, “Please don’t smoke inside.”“I already put it out, I’m not a complete moron.”“Debatable,” Ramuda chimes in, and joins Samatoki where he’s leaning over Jakurai, who is once again laid out in bed, hands folded over his chest like an Egyptian mummy, clad in a long terry cloth robe.Jakurai stares up at the pinksilverredblue amalgamation of color swirling above him and feels a headache coming on, “I’m… not feeling well.”“No joke,” Samatoki says, “Ramuda says you passed out in the shower.”“Why did you—”Ramuda interrupts, pinching the flesh of Jakurai’s cheek, “I must have worn him out last night!”“Ugh,” Samatoki groans, “Please keep that shit to yourselves.”Ramuda and Samatoki dissolve into a round of good-natured bickering, and Jakurai stares slack-jawed.  Good-natured isn’t a word he’d ordinarily use to describe Ramuda under any circumstances, not anymore.  Except… he’s teasing Samatoki and poking and prodding at Jakurai’s buttons in an eerily familiar way.  It reminds Jakurai of when he first met Ramuda, walking around him like a minefield, before finally settling into a mutually assured comfort.“I think that fall struck him dumb,” Ramuda simpers, stroking down Jakurai’s face, popping a finger into Jakurai’s open mouth.“Wh—stop that!” Jakurai splutters, sitting up and swatting Ramuda away.  Samatoki mutters an I’m fuckin’ out of here, flashing a middle finger at Ramuda, who gladly returns the gesture.“Don’t forget practice tomorrow,” he says, before waving goodbye and heading out the door.Jakurai’s curiosity gets the better of him, even as he slides away from Ramuda, “Practice?”“Jeez, that fall really did fuck up your head,” Ramuda sighs, “Doing a practice battle, gotta stay sharp and defend our title or whatever.”Jakurai frowns, searching for the words, something on the tip of his tongue he just can’t articulate.  “Our title,” he deadpans, hoping to prompt Ramuda.“Our title, our title!” Ramuda repeats, jumping on the bed and putting on the voice of what sounds to be a Chuuoku announcer, “Here they are—our four-time national champions.  Oh, they’re just so handsome and dashing!  The one, the only, The Dirty Dawg!!”“Ah.  Of course.”Something falls into place in Jakurai’s mind, something so absurd that he’s reminded of words he once read in an old English novel: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.Jakurai stares his truth in the face—his sickly pink, sugar-coated, acid trip of a truth—and feels the earth move under his feet. + “An alternate universe.”  It sounds even stupider when Jakurai says it out loud, even if it’s just to himself, “I'm in an alternate universe.”Perhaps alternate isn't the right word.  In truth, this world looks very much like Jakurai's own.  After hastily brushing Ramuda off and announcing he's going out for a walk, Jakurai strolls through a Shibuya where nothing really looks amiss—aside from the usual, of course.  The weather is balmy, the streets are crowded, and Jakurai ties his hair up, regretting his choice to throw on his usual white coat.  (Ramuda’s closet had also housed all of Jakurai’s clothes—a small comfort wrapped in another unsettling reality.)This may not be an alternate universe, per se, but a slightly tweaked version, Jakurai decides.  A choice was made, a butterfly beats its wings, and suddenly Jakurai is face-to-face with a massive billboard in the center of downtown, framed in neon lights. The light of late morning is fine enough that it washes his face in neon green as he peers up, reading.
The Dirty Dawg: Better Than Ever

Jakurai sees himself, impassively draped over a large throne, flanked on one side by Samatoki and Ichiro, on the other by Ramuda, perched on the arm rest, signature lollipop hanging from his lips.A foggy morning after waking up in your ex-(teammate, lover, dear friend, something, anything?)’s bed is as good a time as any to take stock of one’s life.  So, Jakurai finds a rare unoccupied bench, and stares up at the billboard as it cycles through advertisements.The last thing Jakurai remembers is… traveling.  Falling asleep in an unfamiliar bed (and waking up in an unfortunately familiar one.)  He had been in Chuuoku, preparing for a division battle.  Against Ramuda, of all people.Perhaps this is all just a stress-induced fever dream.  Unfortunately, Jakurai knows himself too well to allow for such an easy explanation—he has always been the kind to take the path of most resistance.  There’s simply no way Jakurai’s brain would create such an easily shattered illusion.He looks up, a new ad bathing the sidewalk in pink.  It's another image of Jakurai, this time with just Ramuda at his side.  A duo single.  Funny—the last time Jakurai remembers talking to Ramuda, they nearly killed each other.That's not strictly true.  The last time he saw Ramuda, his Ramuda—“E-Excuse me.”  There's a small tap at Jakurai's shoulder, and he looks down to see a short woman, clutching her phone close to her chest, “I’m so sorry to bother you Sensei, it’s just that my boyfriend is such a huge fan.  Well, me too… um, I—could I get a picture?”“Ah… sure, of course.” Jakurai smiles, indulging the girl and letting her take a few selfies.  In her phone’s camera, Jakurai sees himself for the first time since waking up.  He looks, well, the same.  Tired, a bit rougher than he’d prefer, but the same.  No noticeable difference.There’s another girl after the first who approaches Jakurai, asking for an autograph.  Then a group of boys who as him to listen to their rap and give them some tips.  (Jakurai gives them the kindest suggestions he can muster.)And then, with his brain feeling like scrambled eggs, Jakurai catches a train to Shinjuku.  He’s forgotten his wallet—where would it even be, lost in Ramuda’s apartment—but a fan recognizes him loitering by the ticket booth and comps his ride.  He thanks her vociferously and sit at the end of the train, away from the crowds, watching the scenery scroll by.  The same as always.Nothing seems amiss in Shinjuku either.  It’s crowded, as is to be expected, salarymen heading to work while night owls finally head home to sleep.  The air smells a bit metallic, maybe the buzz of the neon signs leaking into the air—this, too, the same as always.  Jakurai navigates the streets with ease, pure muscle memory, and when he finds himself at the doorstep of his clinic, he feels at ease for the first time since waking up.“S-Sensei!” the woman at the desk doesn’t look familiar, but she seems to know him, and looks startled, “I thought you were off today?”“Ah,” Jakurai opens his mouth, but finds no convenient excuse—at least until the doors swing open again behind him, the chime of this office bell offset by the fierce panting of someone as they burst into the reception area.“Sensei, oh thank god.  I thought you weren’t in today.”“Doppo-kun!” Jakurai fails to hide the relief in his voice, nor the smile on his face, which is wildly inappropriate given the circumstances.  Doppo like he’s been run through an obstacle course, sweating and disheveled.  He’s missing a tie, and his briefcase is half-open, spilling papers onto the tiled floor.At the very least, Doppo knows him.  He doesn’t look surprised that Jakurai knows him.  Thank God—or, well, whomever there is to thank—for small miracles.“What can I help you with?” Jakurai leans down to help Doppo collect his papers, “This is my off day, so no need to make it an official session.”“Sensei…” Doppo looks near tears, “Thank you, you’re too kind, especially to someone like me.  Um, just—” he stuffs his papers inside the briefcase, and nods, letting Jakurai lead him down the hallway to his office.“I’ll get some tea,” Jakurai says, letting Doppo settle in.  It’s been a while since he’s seen Doppo so distressed—at least in his own universe.  Tea ought to calm him.And tea gives Jakurai a convenient excuse to explore his own office.  He puts the electric kettle on, casing the room with practiced eyes.  Only slight differences appear—no photos, no Matenrou memorabilia (of course), no personal effects of any kind.  The calendar date on the bottom right corner of the computer reads only one day ahead of the date it had been when Jakurai fell asleep.  A final confirmation that sends a chill through Jakurai’s blood—this isn’t the past, this isn’t the future.  This is someplace else entirely.“Sensei?”The kettle is whistling, “Apologies.”  Jakurai pours the tea, and finally sees his hypnosis microphone in his peripheral—in the far corner of the room, protected by a glass case.  That’s certainly new.Jakurai presses the warm mug into Doppo’s hands, “Tell me what happened, Doppo-kun.”“A mugger,” he says, urgently, “I—well I was on the train when he jumped me.  It was crowded but I guess he thought no one would notice.  He was right, except I don’t actually have any money on me,” Doppo pauses to laugh, a bit manic a way Jakurai recognizes, “So, no harm done.  Except my boss took one look at me and told me to go home for the day if I was going to show up like this!”“Were you fired?”“No, no—I mean, not yet,” Doppo groans, nearly dropping the tea as he tries to put his head in his hands, “It’s gonna happen any day, I know it.  I have the worst luck.”“Doppo-kun,” Jakurai moves toward the case with his microphone, “A defeatist attitude will lead you inevitably toward defeat.  I know you can’t control negative thoughts, but you can clarify them.  I know you’ve been through harder situations before, and I know you can get through this similarly.”“Thanks Sensei,” Doppo’s voice is quiet, calm.  Peaceful, for a second—until he sees Jakurai unlocking the cabinet with his microphone, “Are you… going to use that?”“I—” Jakurai pauses, hand halfway to the microphone stand, “I’m sorry if I misunderstood.  I hoped it would help.”“No, it’s just,” Doppo almost looks like he’s about to laugh, “I asked about it the last time I was here, and you said my case wasn’t quite bad enough.  I thought you only used it for really, really severe patients.  Since you have to protect your voice.”“Of course,” Jakurai answers quickly, dropping his hand.  Protect my voice—the cost of The Dirty Dawg’s longevity.  But Jakurai, as he is now, in any case, isn’t indebted to The Dirty Dawg, to this universe, “I can, though, if you’d like.”“I—” Doppo fumbles with his tea, spilling it across his lap and biting back the yelp at the hot water, “I’d really like that.”Jakurai smiles, fingers grasping thin, cold metal, and he settles on a familiar tune.

+ Doppo looks worlds different when Jakurai finally sends him on his way.  In the same way that Ramuda this morning had seemed different than the Ramuda Jakurai’s always known, this Doppo seems different too—a touch more manic, more distressed, even his baseline.  Jakurai feels self-absorbed for thinking that it might have something to do with him.“Thank you, Sensei,” Doppo bows slightly as they reach the reception area.“Please, call me Jakurai,” Jakurai smiles; Doppo blanches and gives him a look as though he will do no such thing, “Tell me, how long have we been seeing each other?”“I’ve, um,” Doppo sputters at the wording, “I’ve been coming for a few months, maybe?  Right after you opened the clinic.  I was surprised you took me on, you were so crowded.”“I…” Jakurai frowns.  A few months—he wonders what kept him from opening the clinic, but the answer seems obvious.  No need to open a practice when you’re busy being a famous MC, “I hope I’ll see you again.  Please take care, Doppo-kun.”“Thank you… Jakurai.”And then, a reflexive afterthought, Jakurai adds, “Please give my best to Hifumi-kun.”Doppo's face crumples in a second of confusion, “I—I will.”Jakurai doesn't have time to interrogate Doppo’s confusion.  In a second he’s out the door, and Jakurai is feeling his phone buzz in this coat pocket.He has 23 missed messages from Ramuda.  Wonderful.

From: Amemura Ramuda

(2:46) oi dont forget my show today just cuz you hit your head
(3:01) DON’T FORGET!!!!!!!!!!! ( ﾉ ^ ヮ ^) ﾉ *: ・ﾟ ✧
(3:26) dont forget dont forget
(3:30) u have 30 minutes left to live if u don’t get here
(3:38) jjjjjj
(3:38) aaaaaa
(3:38) kkkkkkk
(3:38) uuuuu
(3:38) rrrrrr
(3:38) aaaaaaaaa
(3:39) iiiiiiii
(3:39) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(4:00) sensei my handsome jakurai whom is so beloved
(4:01) how did u use your last 30 minutes on earth? (•ᴗ•)
(4:13) sending a car to get you no complaints you promised!!!!!!
(4:22) look outside my prince ( ｡ ❛ ᴗ ❛ ｡ ) It’s exactly 4:22PM.  Jakurai looks up, and through the glass doors of the clinic he can see a sleek black sedan pull up outside.  A sharply dressed man steps out, pulling the clinic door open, one hand clasped formally behind his back .He dips his head at Jakurai, “Jinguji-san.  I’m here to collect you for Amemura-san.”Jakurai puts to rest any thought he had about this universe’s Ramuda being any less dangerous than his own.“So it would seem.”Jakurai half expects to be gagged, stuffed in a bag, and tossed in the truck; instead, the chauffeur opens the car door and presents him with a bottle of sparkling water before they set off, driving not back towards Shibuya but in the opposite direction, toward downtown Tokyo.  Jakurai braces himself for traffic that never comes—the car weaves through the streets with the kind of permission usually only an emergency vehicle would command.“A surprisingly easy drive,” Jakurai says, and the driver laughs.“Always easy with this license plate.”They pull down an alley, and the car parks at the back of an elaborate three-story glass home.  Through the copious windows, Jakurai can see a cacophony of color, bright pink and yellow and green garments embellished with jewels and baubles, creating a larger-than-life kaleidoscope in the middle of an otherwise normal street.  This is certainly an Amemura Ramuda fashion show.The chauffeur opens the door for him, and Jakurai steps out, taking a peek at the license plate the man had mentioned earlier—the front plate is bright, unmistakable magenta, the Chuuoku emblem emblazoned in white.Of course.Another man Jakurai doesn’t recognize ushers him inside, through a well-hidden back door, a winding maze of a hallway, and what looks like an industrial kitchen.  Eventually he emerges into a room bathed in light of the dying sun, white marble floors gleaming, luxuriously-dressed models lounging on matching pure white furniture, sipping cocktails as acid-bright as their outfits.“Jakurai!!” Ramuda’s voice is as piercing as ever, his tell-tale sing-song drawing out the vowels of Jakurai’s name.  He bounds across the room, latching on to Jakurai’s side like a magnet, “You’re late, and I’m mad, you missed the whole show!”“I’m sorry, I had an emergency appointment,” Jakurai may not consider himself the best actor, but he’s at least smart enough to gather context clues, “It looks like everything went well, very… you.”A tall, slender woman struts by wearing a green silk dress with a message spelt out in rhinestones on her ass: F$CK U PAY ME.  Very Ramuda, indeed.“Your sweet talk is lame,” Ramuda whines, pulling Jakurai toward where he was sitting, a large white sectional at the center of an adoring crowd, “I told everyone the infamous ill-DOC would be here.  Now you made me look bad!”“I’m sure they were too enamored with your designs to miss me.”“There you go!” Ramuda grins; Jakurai ignores the flip-flop of his stomach.Ramuda leads Jakurai through the group of people, an eclectic selection coalescing around the spot where Ramuda was sitting.  Some are models—Jakurai recognizes Ramuda’s design style even here; his garish worldview must be a pan-universal constant.  For his part, Ramuda is dressed in a pair of white jeans and a gauzy green turtleneck—Jakurai can see the slope of his torso through the semi-opaque fabric, and the promise of pale skin underneath.  His hair looks longer than Jakurai remembers, the tendrils of the bangs that frame his face reaching down to shoulders, just brushing the thin line of his collar bones.He looks… happy.  When was the last time Jakurai saw Ramuda look genuinely happy?“Can you do me a teeny, tiny, baby favor?” Ramuda simpers, sitting down and crossing his legs up tight like a pretzel.  When Jakurai doesn’t follow his movements, he tugs on the doctor’s sleeve, until Jakurai perches himself at the edge of the couch cushion, “Christ, Jakurai, can you get comfortable even a little bit?”An attempt is made.  Jakurai leans back an inch, sinking into the plush cushions, “Is that the favor you wanted to ask?”“No, that’s just a regular old demand.”“Well, what’s the difference?”“The difference,” Ramuda leans against Jakurai’s arm; he smells like sour cherry, “Is that I’m asking nicely.”A rarity, to be sure.  “Then I’ll do my best to answer nicely.”He doesn’t get the chance.  One of Ramuda’s ostentatious colleagues whisks him away abruptly, talking about some upcoming showcase.  Ramuda’s always been like this—ephemeral, impossible to pin down, even when you’re looking right at him.  And falling into step behind him, picking up their old rapport, that’s simple enough for Jakurai.  But trying to live in his world is another matter entirely.Jakurai makes small talk with some models.  He gets a drink (club soda with lime) and sips it while looking out on the densely packed streets, running through options in his head.  He should visit a shrine, consult a priest.  If there was a time to shed his skepticism of mysticism, it would be now.  Or maybe it would be enough to recreate the events of the day before, though that would require a trip to—“Ouchie, I can hear you thinking from here!”Ramuda nearly trips over himself on his way toward Jakurai, clutching his champagne flute like it’s the last life jacket on the Titanic.  He slips an arm through the crook of Jakurai’s elbow, steering them toward a small alcove in the wall, the illusion of privacy in a glass house.“You’ve been drinking,” Jakurai frowns.“Nu-uh,” Ramuda rolls his eyes, tapping the side of his glass, “It’s ginger ale, dummy.  I just want these idiots to think I’m drunk.  I can get away with so much.  Well, more than usual.”Well, that sounds like Ramuda, “That’s an unkind thing to say about your colleagues.”“That’s an unkind blah blah blah.  I’m bored.  Can we get out of here?”  As if the insinuation in his voice wasn’t obvious enough, Ramuda punctuates his question by snaking a hand around Jakurai’s waist underneath his coat, teasing a finger under the hem of his shirt, the chill of his hand sending goosebumps across Jakurai’s skin.It’s almost nice, knowing that in some universe, some reality, Jakurai can still monopolize Ramuda’s attention.“Yeah, sure,” Jakurai knocks back his club soda and pushes down the latent panic in his gut.  He’s been doing it all day—what’s another few hours?“Let’s go home.” + The first time Jakurai sees Ramuda, he wants him.  It’s a cliché to call it a kind of magnetism, but it might as well be—something so immediate that even Jakurai manages to outrun his better instincts.  Whatever it is, it attracts and repels him in equal measure, a steady push and pull like the tides.  For all his eloquent, introspective ruminations, Jakurai has never managed to find the word for it.He would call it ‘sublime’—the sensation of teetering on a knife’s edge, feeling the thrill and knowing it can hurt—but that feels a word too romantic for Ramuda.In his private moments, Jakurai is bothered by how easily Ramuda has him figured out.  Ramuda had once likened Jakurai to a haunted house: eerie, maze-like, full of uncanny twists and turns that leave your stomach in knots and your head spinning.  Not an unfair comparison, Jakurai decides.Puzzling together Amemura Ramuda is another matter entirely.  Ramuda is a science experiment, all chemicals and complicated moving parts held together with spun sugar and candy floss.  Ramuda is a venomous animal, bright pink hair like a warning flare, forewarning enemies of his rhymes dripping in poison.  Ramuda is minefield Jakurai has yet to learn how to navigate, even after all this time.Because for all of Ramuda’s flirting and posturing, nothing ever happens between them, nothing that lasts, anyway.  They stay like that, teetering on the edge, waiting for one or the other to fall off.Maybe Jakurai did, once.It was a Wednesday night, that much Jakurai remembers.  It’s why he didn’t want to drink—that, and the obvious reason.  But Ramuda was persuasive.  Ramuda was always persuasive; and Jakurai, always eager to be persuaded.How much alcohol he actually had, Jakurai can’t remember.  It wouldn’t have mattered anyway—just one sip would have been enough.  Enough to have him pawing at Ramuda like a horny teenager, whining petulantly until Ramuda finally obliges him, perching on Jakurai’s lap, simpering something or other, Jakurai easily caught in such sticky sweet words.“You’re so,” Jakurai swallows, flexes his hand around Ramuda’s waist, “You’re so small.”“Maybe,” Ramuda says, like it’s up for debate, “You think you could break me, Sensei?”“Maybe,” Jakurai echoes, voice rumbling in his chest, fingers creeping up under the hem of Ramuda’s oversized sweatshirt.  He feels like thin lines of Ramuda’s ribcage under his massive palm, delicate and breakable like a bird’s bones.“You wanna try?”The memory goes dark. + Jakurai’s not sure exactly what he’s expecting when Ramuda directs him to the bedroom and tells him to get comfortable.  Knowing Ramuda, he really should have anticipated what happens next.“I think a fishtail braid would be cute,” Ramuda buries his hands in Jakurai’s hair, wearing it on his arms like a pair of delicate purple gloves, “Such a pain with your hair, though.”“Ramuda-kun…”“Shut up and put your head in my lap.”Ah, romance.  Jakurai feels his heart clench.  He wishes he had better taste.Ramuda’s lap is small, but warm.  He sits up against the headboard, and Jakurai rests his head on his thin thighs.  It’s takes just too much concerted effort for Jakurai to keep his head there, a small strain in his neck such that he couldn’t truly call it comfortable.  And yet.“Sleepy already?” Ramuda smirks down at him, bangs curtaining his face.“No,” Jakurai lies, even as his eyelids droop.  Maybe he can disguise it as pensiveness—an old doctor’s trick.  He certainly has enough to think about.But it’s too early to fall asleep, even after the long car ride home.  Luckily for Jakurai, Ramuda had been especially chatty—always something to complain about it, it seemed—and he filled the silence between them that Jakurai was too nervous to examine.“What’re you thinking about?”“You.”  Jakurai answers too fast.He sees Ramuda’s eyes light up, “Ooh, romantic, Sensei.  What about me?”“Hm,” Jakurai closes his eyes, considers being completely honest with Ramuda for once in his life.  But old habits die hard, “Remind me, how did all this happen?”“Something about the big bang, I think!” Ramuda cackles at his own joke.“I mean,” Jakurai lets himself melt into the sensation of Ramuda’s fingers in his hair.  After that, the words flow easily, “I wonder how we manage to coexist without… imploding.  We’re too volatile.  This is very different than I ever thought it could be.”He would keep talking like word vomit, unable to stop himself, if Ramuda didn’t laugh, cutting him off, “Are you drunk, old man?  You’re not usually so honest.”“Neither are you.”“Well I’m not the one spilling my guts here, am I?” Ramuda tugs at Jakurai’s hair, the tiniest pinch at the base of his scalp, “Are you going senile already?  I thought I could squeeze a few more good years out of you.”“Hilarious,” Jakurai rolls his eyes—as if the notion of a few more years with Ramuda presented as an inevitability, rather than a Hail Mary impossibility isn’t sending his head reeling, “I’m asking genuinely.  How did we manage to meet in the middle?”Ramuda cackles at that, a laugh so high-pitched only dogs can hear him.  Jakurai doesn’t try to move when Ramuda leans down, pressing a kiss to his chapped lips, something chaste and uncharacteristic and heart-stopping.“Meet in the middle… you’re ridiculous sometimes.  There’s no middle for us to meet in,” Ramuda says, and he doesn’t sound sad, just matter-of-fact, “We’re in entirely different universes.”For a moment—so fleeting he almost misses it—Jakurai wishes this was his universe.“So, each time we kiss it’s interstellar travel?”A smile, softer than Jakurai’s ever seen paint Ramuda’s face before, “Something like that.”Too many questions and no answers, but Jakurai decides that’s good enough for now.  Maybe this is all a karmic joke, a reminder of feelings he can’t quite shake, steady even through the breakdown and the betrayal and the backstabbing.  Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow back where he belongs, but this time with the knowledge of what he lost.Jakurai can’t be sure what he’s wishing for when he falls asleep, Ramuda’s fingers still tangled in his hair. + Fucking with Jakurai might be Ramuda’s favorite past time.There isn’t really a more eloquent way to put it, not that Ramuda’s ever considered himself eloquent to begin with.  It’s just too tempting, knowing that he fascinates Jakurai, that he can command his attention so easily, that he can wield such power over him without even lifting his little finger.  But it used to be more fun, back when they first met, when Jakurai was interested but wary, approaching Ramuda like he might a wild animal.Maybe that’s why, when Ramuda wakes up and sees a thinly-disguised look of shock on Jakurai’s face, he knows immediately that something is off.It only becomes clearer as the day goes on—Jakurai’s forgetfulness, his blank expression at the fashion show, a frown and a lump in his throat like he’s swallowing an unpleasant pill.  Jakurai may not like public appearances, but he’s become adept at them thanks to the Dirty Dawg’s fame.  To see looking like a fish out of water is unusual.And delightful.Jakurai passes out early—Wow, he really is old—and Ramuda lets him sleep in the next morning as well, leaning over so he can watch blue eyes blink awake.  “Ramuda-kun… Good morning.”Ramuda’s pretty sure he can see the expression on Jakurai’s face cycle through all seven stages of grief, “Good morning!  I made breakfast, like a wonderful, beautiful housewife!”“I somehow doubt that,” Jakurai props himself up, gazing down at his palms like he’s just been born anew.  Ramuda grins—whatever the hell is going on, Jakurai’s every nervous tic and reaction is delectable.  Maybe that fall in the shower really did fuck him up.“Okay, you got me, meanie.  I ordered it, but it’s still getting cold, so come on.”Jakurai moves like a man stepping foot on an alien planet; Ramuda can barely hold back his laughter, disguising it as a cough when Jakurai looks down at the traditional breakfast Ramuda’s ordered for him with a look of deep contemplation.  Oh, this is wonderful.And that’s to say nothing of the weird things Jakurai was saying yesterday, “What’s on your mind?”“Hm?” Jakurai swallows a bite of rice, “Nothing in particular.  We have… practice today, correct?”“Correct,” Ramuda repeats, “You nervous?”Jakurai picks at his mackerel, “Not particularly.”An obvious lie—Ramuda knows all of Jakurai’s tells by now, as near-imperceptible as they are.  There’s a tiny spot at the base of Jakurai’s jaw that flexes when he’s fibbing, a spot Ramuda’s taken to sucking hickies on when they fuck, Jakurai’s lip wobbling when he lies, pretending whatever Ramuda does to him doesn’t feel good, isn’t exactly what he wants—“Ramuda-kun?”“Hm?” Ramuda blinks, plastering on a quick smile, “Whatever you said, I hate it and you’re wrong.”Jakurai sighs, long-suffering, “I only said thank you for ordering breakfast.  And that I have to run an errand before our meeting.”Interesting.  “If you must,” Ramuda presses a hand to his chest, faux-dramatic, “I’ll text you the place, it’s a new building.  Don’t be late this time.”Once Jakurai’s left, Ramuda makes two calls.One, to a maid to clean up the apartment.  (God forbid he ever clean it himself.)Two, to— “Onee-san!  You really picked up!”“Ramuda…” the voice on the other end of the line sounds a second away from hanging up, “Be brief.”
 
  “Promise, promise,” Ramuda wiggles out of his pants, putting the phone on speaker so he can get dressed, “Can you spare someone today?  I need to have someone followed.”
“Depends.  Who is it?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you know him,” Ramuda hums, “A tall doctor, long hair, kind of moody, decent in bed?”“You want someone to follow Jinguji?  Ramuda, I’m hanging up”“Boo, not so fast!” Ramuda buttons his shirt, grabbing the phone so he can talk directly into the speaker, “I really think you’ll want to, promise, cross my heart, all that shit.  I’ll look forward to your report.”  Ramuda hangs up, before she can protest.He always has liked to get the last word. +  Waking up in Ramuda’s bed is nearly as unpleasant the second morning in a row.  At least this time Jakurai manages to find his wallet before leaving the house.He swings by a bookstore to buy a book on Buddhist rituals, thumbing through it while on the train to Shinjuku.  Parallel universes, planes of existence, divine retribution… Jakurai doesn’t even know where to begin.  There are a million explanations for why he’s found himself here, chief among them the explanation that maybe it’s for no reason at all.  That might be the most likely option—and the cruelest.Figuring out exactly what is different about this world is a task even Jakurai isn’t ready to take on alone.   (He wonders what went wrong here.  He wonders what went right.)So, he stares down at the words on the page until they start swimming, and then—hypothesis in hand—Jakurai relents, doing something he has always found difficult.He asks for help.“Thank you for seeing me.”Doppo looks up at Jakurai like he’s just seen a ghost or the Queen of England.  Or maybe the ghost of the Queen of England, “No—No problem.  Please come in.”Jakurai is relieved to find that Doppo’s address is the same.  He gives a courtesy call as he approaches his neighborhood, and Doppo sounds amenable, if a bit alarmed.  It was either that or scare the poor man half to death by dropping by unannounced.“Is Hifumi-kun home?”“No, he has day shifts this weekend,” Doppo brings some tea into the living room, where Jakurai’s settled in, “Actually, Sensei, I meant to ask earlier.  How do you know Hifumi?”
Oh, that’s easy, see in an alternate universe, you, Hifumi, and I are all quite close.
“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned him during our sessions,” Doppo continues, frowning, “Unless I said something while you were using your hypnosis microphone?”“No,” Jakurai answers quickly, “You never mentioned him before.  But I do know him.”“Oh no,” Doppo’s face pales, “I didn’t mean to—um.  I mean, I guess I didn’t realize he took male clients.  Well, I guess I should have known, since—”Jakurai nearly spits out his tea, “No, no, it’s not—that’s not it.  It’s a stranger explanation, if you can believe it.”Doppo—at least the Doppo that Jakurai knows, and cares for—has always been a good friend, someone least likely to mock or ridicule, no matter the circumstances.  This Doppo seems no different, shrugging and sitting down across from Jakurai.“Okay.  Try me.”By the time Jakurai’s finished explaining, Doppo’s only had to excuse himself to hyperventilate into a paper bag two times.  Pretty good, as far as Jakurai’s concerned.“When did you realize?” Doppo wheezes, leaning against the door frame.“Not long after I woke up,” Jakurai says, “As ridiculous as it sounds, it was the likeliest explanation.”“I envy your brain, Sensei,” Doppo sits back down, “In your shoes I think I’d just—”“Internally combust?”“At the least,” Doppo finally cracks a smile, “I believe you, by the way.  You said in your… universe or whatever, we’re friends?”A nod, “We’re the Shinjuku Division—Matenrou.  You, me, and Hifumi-kun.”  Doppo wordlessly sounds out the name, Ma-ten-rou, and Jakurai smiles, “I’m sorry to burden you with this.  I wasn’t sure who else to turn to.”“Since you and Ramuda-kun are—”“Complicated,” Jakurai finishes.  And that’s putting it mildly.Talking to Doppo, though, lifts a weight off Jakurai’s shoulders, one he knew was there but didn’t know how to carry, so unfamiliar and stilted in this kaleidoscope version of his own life.  Everything’s too muddled, so interconnected that Jakurai still can’t put his finger on the crux of his purpose here.Here, the Dirty Dawg never broke up.  Did that mean Ramuda had a change of heart?  Or did Jakurai?  Was Jakurai’s past here the same as the past he remembered?  Maybe the Jakurai of this universe was less burdened—Jakurai almost envies him, and not for the first time.There are a few hours before Jakurai has to meet Ramuda and the rest of the Dirty Dawg, so he and Doppo spend that time brainstorming how to return him to his proper universe.  Consult a shrine priest?  Perform some obscure ritual?  Just hit his head really, really hard?“I wish it were so easy,” Jakurai says, gathering his things to leave.“Maybe we’re overthinking it,” Doppo says, “You said this is a lot different than your universe but, maybe it doesn’t have to do with that.”Interesting.  “What do you mean?”“Maybe,” Doppo smiles, a rare unburdened moment, “It’s about what’s stayed the same.” + “You’re late, again!”Jakurai meets Ramuda at the courtyard of a large office complex in Shibuya.  The receptionists, employees, and security guards all seem to know him, which is strange enough.  Stranger still is the hot pink and white logo of Chuuoku that Jakurai spots underneath the gold plaque announcing the name of the office building.Ramuda’s waiting for him, of course, dressed in a massively oversize, obscenely pink sweatshirt and another pair of white jeans, looking a lot like the lollipop currently hanging between his lips.  Ichiro is next to him, and this Ichiro looks like a cross between the Ichiro Jakurai knows as the leader of the Buster Bros, and the Ichiro he first met, back when he was just a teenage delinquent.“Nah, Samatoki still isn’t here, so you’re not late yet,” Ichiro supplies, and Jakurai gives him a grateful nod.  Speak of the devil— “I’m not late, you’re all too fucking early.”Samatoki looks closer to how Jakurai remembers.  He’s lost the leather jacket and slicked-back hair, instead wearing his hair down (still half-wet from shower), and a bright red shirt with the buttons done-up wrong.“You’re a mess,” Ichiro sighs, reaching to unbutton and re-button Samatoki’s shirt correctly.  Samatoki grumbles, but makes no move to push him away.  Ramuda coos something or other about his being perfect for his Instagram story, and whips out his phone, bopping around the pair as he takes a video.  Samatoki badgers Ramuda about what he’s going to caption the video, and Ramuda ignores all his suggestions.Nostalgia squeezes at Jakurai’s heart.  This is so close to how they were—is, actually, how they could have been.  They weren’t just friends, or teammates.  They were brothers.  Jakurai would even deign to admit that he sometimes missed the Dirty Dawg, missed the unique camaraderie, the sense that it was them against the world.  Hifumi and Doppo might have been surprised to hear that, to hear how normal it was between the four of them.For a second, it feels that way again.At least until Jakurai sees a faintly familiar woman round the corner, whipping her high ponytail off her shoulder.  The Assistant Prime Minister.“Onee-san!” Ramuda shouts, waving her over.  She looks unamused.“Thank you for overseeing us, Kadenokouji-san,” Ichiro bows his head slightly, nudging Samatoki with his elbow to do the same.“You’re welcome,” Ichijiku looks distracted, “Is the other group on their way?”“Apparently!” Ramuda checks his phone, “These small-time divisions don’t know how to be professional, eh?”Jakurai had almost forgotten—this isn’t just a practice, it’s a pseudo division battle.  Or, at least what could be considered a division battle in a world where the Dirty Dawg have been crowned National Champions.  Ichijiku’s presence overseeing the battle makes sense—why the Central Ward would have a satellite office in Shibuya, and sanction it for division battles, is another matter entirely.“I’m not sure I’m equipped for a battle right now,” Jakurai whispers, mostly to himself, half to Ichiro.  Ichiro had always been the least judgmental among them, “I didn’t prepare anything.”“I wouldn’t worry,” Ichiro says, “I’m sure we’ll win.”“What makes you so sure?”Ichiro flashes a grin, “The Dirty Dawg always wins.” + And they do.But for once in his life, winning is really the least of Ramuda’s concerns.  While the members of the tiny division they’ve just massacred slink away, he excuses himself to the little boy’s room!, ignoring Samatoki’s exasperated expression at the phrase and the way Jakurai’s eyes follow him.Ichijiku meets him in the hallway, pulling a manila folder from her purse, “First, let me say that if you ever hang up on me again, I will have you killed.”“Boo!  At least kill me yourself, coward!” Ramuda reaches for the envelope, but Ichijiku snatches it away.“I’m not saying you were right,” she says, “But we did extract some interesting information.  I want to speak to him.”Ramuda blinks, “Who, Jakurai?  I’m sure he’ll take the fact that we had him followed well, let’s just call him in right now.”“I want to speak to him,” she repeats, “When you’ve decided to cooperate”“What, so I don’t get to see this information?” Ramuda frowns, face turned hard, “I was the one who gave you the tip in the first place.”Ichijiku gives him a patronizing smile, a bit of pity sneaking into her expression, “Amemura-kun, you’re still under the illusion that we need you more than you need us.  I don’t think Jinguji would like to know you had him followed.  But I can certainly make that information plain.”Ramuda’s already stopped listening, waving his hand at Ichijiku, missing the way her eyes flash with anger, “Shut up, old hag, I’m thinking.”  It’s only because of Ichijiku’s influence that the Dirty Dawg have survived so long.  Ramuda’s certainly not ready to give that up, but her increasingly dramatic demands are getting harder to keep up with.  And to say Ramuda’s tired of spending so much time under her heel would be an understatement.He doesn’t have time to respond; Ichijiku taps her cane against the tiled floor, a universal symbol for we’re done here.  “Goodbye Amemura-kun,” she waves a hand, “You can think about it.  But not for too long.”Ramuda doesn’t bother responding.  Ichijiku likes having the last word even more than he does. + “Hey, open your mouth.”“Why?”  Jakurai asks, but immediately opens his mouth obediently.  A reflex, he’d call it, and a bad one at that.Ramuda holds up a bag of truffles, fancy chocolates gifted to him by a fan, “I need to test if these are poison, let me toss one in your mouth.”  He tries, once, twice, three times before successfully popping one in Jakurai’s mouth.  It melts quick on Jakurai’s tongue.“A hint of citrus,” Jakurai says, licking his lips, “Unfortunately, not poisoned.”“Damn,” Ramuda smiles, flopping over until his head hits Jakurai’s chest, “I can’t get rid of you, can I?”It’s been two weeks.  Jakurai spends the first few days pouring over strange books he buys at the bookstore around the corner, searching for any hint of myth or ritual that can explain his predicament.  His mind sticks on what Doppo had said—Maybe it’s about what’s stayed the same.  At first, it’s hard to pick out the constants in a world that feels so unlike his own.It’s hard to tell if Samatoki or Ichiro notice anything different about him.  Well aware that he could probably be as honest with them as he was with Doppo, Jakurai chooses to play the part instead, with only minor slip-ups here and there—Ichiro stiffens when Jakurai references his brothers, Samatoki looks confused when someone calls him a yakuza.  Maybe this universe has left some of them better off than others.The Dirty Dawg have a small headquarters of sorts, Jakurai discovers, near Ikebukuro.  It’s more like an afterthought, the empty loft of an old apartment building.  They had had something similar, Jakurai remembers, from his own past.  This seems different—and if the bed in the corner is anything to go by, Ichiro might also be living here.There’s a massive couch in the center of the room, a massive TV, and an array of game systems.  Jakurai wonders out loud who bankrolled this loft, and Ramuda answers, “Me, of course.  You broke bitches can’t afford anything.”It certainly keeps Samatoki and Ichiro out of his hair, Jakurai decides.  They busy themselves with some fighting game or another.  Ichiro always wins.“I’m tired of small-time division battles,” Samatoki whines, fingers flicking at the controller’s buttons.  This is where they end up, more often than not, after a practice or division battle.  Their schedule is more demanding than Jakurai anticipated—the price of fame, it seems.Samatoki continues, “All I’m saying is, when are we gonna get a challenge?”“Wasn’t that the point of being, like, the best?” Ichiro responds, and then fist pumps when he manages to kick Samatoki’s character off a cliff, “We’re untouchable.”“Aw, Samatoki-kun is a softie!” Ramuda laughs, ignoring Samatokis’ growl of it’s -Sama, damn it!, “Doesn’t like kicking others when they’re already down.”Jakurai smiles.  He’s sitting a bit apart from the other three, “Maybe we could each form our own divisions?  And battle each other.”“Good one,” Samatoki snorts.Ramuda tries to catch Jakurai’s eye, missing by a millimeter, “Well, maybe that would be fun!  But then we’d have to split up.  And you’d all lose to me, anyway.”Ichiro officially defeats Samatoki in the game, the bright blue YOU WIN! flashing across the screen, “I… don’t think I’d want that.  We shouldn’t break up.”A beat of silence, maybe in which they each imagine what that would mean.  Jakurai doesn’t have to imagine, “We won’t,” he says, in spite of himself, perhaps trying to preserve the last bit of peace that’s manage to lodge itself here, jagged and misshapen and tenuous between them, “We’re brothers, of course.”Ramuda mocks him for being a corny old man, but Jakurai will take that criticism gladly.  Ramuda is one to talk, honestly—he rounds them up for a selfie for SNS, and grins so wide it must hurt.  Most of Jakurai’s time is, of course, spent with Ramuda.  And though they never name it, the relationship between them is remarkably well-adjusted—not a phrase Jakurai would ordinarily ever associate with Ramuda.  Or himself, for that matter.Their back-and-forth reminds him of the days when The Dirty Dawg had just come together, rose-colored and giddy and full to bursting with a fascination Jakurai couldn’t contain. It starts to feel like Jakurai’s getting a peek into what life could have been like for them.  They stay in most nights, ordering takeout and lounging on the couch watching documentaries on whatever Ramuda’s decided he’s obsessed with this week.  Ramuda never did learn what personal space was, draping himself over Jakurai at any chance he gets, like a tiny heated throw blanket.  Jakurai gets used to the warmth.Sometimes they do go out, exploring art exhibits and new restaurants, signing autographs and taking selfies for fans who recognize them out.  Their relationship must be public knowledge, because no one ever seems shocked to see Ramuda kiss Jakurai full on the mouth out in public, lips soft and insistent, so reluctant to let go that Jakurai eventually has to pry Ramuda off, laughing so hard his sides hurt.They fall asleep together, tangled tight as they drift off to sleep.  And that might be the strangest part of all: to be able to hold Ramuda without the fear that he’ll be gone in the morning.“I’m bored.”A bored Ramuda is dangerous, “Well, we can go out to dinner if you’d like.”“Nah,” Ramuda draws out the vowel, tracing his finger in a pattern on the top of Jakurai’s thigh, ‘You should entertain me.”Jakurai adjusts his seat on the couch, sitting up a bit, “I’m not—”“What’s wrong, Sensei?” Ramuda simpers, and Jakurai’s grown familiar enough with that tone to know what comes next, “You look nervous.”He is nervous.  And he’d probably die before admitting that to Ramuda.Jakurai is already feeling a twinge of excitement with just the teasing sensation of Ramuda’s fingers tracing his length in his pants, small frame leaning in to kiss a trail up the side of his neck.  Ramuda works fast—he has Jakurai’s pants unzipped and his cock half-hard before Jakurai can even think, and he lets out a deep groan from the center of his chest when Ramuda thumbs at his slit, wiping precome across the head of his cock.“It’s been a while since we fooled around,” Ramuda pouts, slinking down to his knees in front of the couch, parting Jakurai’s thighs, which fall open easily, “Don’t you like me anymore?”“Don’t be foolish,” and then, the words that come a little bit harder, “Of course I care for you.”Ramuda hasn’t said love—not in this universe or Jakurai’s own.  So, Jakurai bites it back himself.  That, at least, is a well-practiced instinct.Jakurai’s hips twitch up when Ramuda abruptly swallows him down, one slick motion that has Jakurai going rock-hard in his mouth, a tight, wet heat thrumming around him.  Another tilt of his hips, pistoning against the soft palate, and Ramuda gags but doesn’t pull off, holding himself down against the light patch of hair at the base of Jakurai’s cock.“Jesus, Ramuda—” Jakurai brings one hand to his mouth to muffle an embarrassing moan, the other burying itself in Ramuda’s bangs, pushing the hair up out of his face.Ramuda settles in, knees spreading, hands gripping either of Jakurai’s thighs like a vice grip.  When he pulls off with a loud, wet pop!, there’s a combination of drool and precome dripping from the swell of his lip that he makes no move to wipe clean.“I never get tired of this,” he mumbles, nuzzling against Jakurai’s length, no consideration for how filthy his face gets.  He snakes a hand up Jakurai’s chest, tweaking his nipple over his shirt.  He’s rewarded with a startled whine, “Your reactions are the best.  You’re weak to anything I give you, huh?”Jakurai bites the knuckle of his pointer finger, holding back an immediate response of yes, god, of course, please—!It doesn’t take long for Ramuda to make him come, head bobbing on his cock until Jakurai can feel his hips go numb.  He holds Ramuda’s head down as he comes, toes curling and thighs shaking.  Ramuda’s throat flexes as he swallows, milking Jakurai dry, and it becomes almost too much, oversensitivity quickening his heart rate until he has to forcibly push Ramuda away, a bit harsher than he meant.“I’m sorry I—”“Mm!” Ramuda cuts him off, too distracted as he chases his own pleasure, grinding the tent in his pants against the heel of his palm, quick to come with a cut-off keen.  Jakurai watches the wet spot spread across the front of his pants, and then Ramuda collapses against the cool hardwood floor, wet and satiated.Jakurai is too loose-limbed and hazy from his orgasm to move, “You’re a mess,” he mumbles.  Maybe to himself, maybe to Ramuda.“We both are,” Ramuda says, voice hoarse.  He rolls over to look at Jakurai, blue eyes meeting blue, and they both laugh at the mess they’ve made of the living room, clothes crumpled and bodies slick with sweat and come.Ramuda finally stands, pulling Jakurai off the couch, toward the bedroom and the promise of a shower.  He smiles, giggling as they make their way there on wobbly legs, “I’ll never get tired of this.”You will, Jakurai thinks. + Jakurai’s sessions with Doppo continue, but now they take on the unusual roles of Jakurai as the patient and Doppo as the therapist.“Okay, so no luck with that,” Doppo crosses something off in his notebook.  They’ve been testing different ways to return Jakurai to his own universe each week, ranging from buying sage for Jakurai to burn in the apartment (Ramuda had let that slide, just giving Jakurai a curious look), to visiting a priest and asking for an exorcism, to cutting off a chunk of his hair tying it to a birch tree.  Nothing has worked; Jakurai starts to wonder if anything ever will.“You shouldn’t spend so much time on me,” Jakurai says, seeing how many books Doppo’s brought with him, texts on myths and mysticisms and old rituals, “I don’t want your work to suffer.”“Oh, well, I’m glad for the distraction,” Doppo grimaces, “I’m always behind on work anyway.”“Doppo-kun…”“Besides, I want to help.  I feel bad thinking of the other Jakurai.”Jakurai freezes, “The other…”It hits Jakurai like a brick against his chest—while he’s been trapped here, in this universe, the Jakurai whose place he’s taken is trapped in another universe.  Feeling the same confusion, desperation.  And, maybe like Jakurai, the same sensation of a creeping comfort, like being swallowed by quicksand and happily sinking into the sensation.Jakurai had grown so comfortable—too comfortable—to realize that none of this belonged to him.  He was living in the skeleton of someone else’s life.  And after taking such pride in rebuilding a life he could be proud of, Jakurai was now happily inhabiting a home he had no part in building.  This wasn’t his for the taking.  Jakurai has to sit down, eyes fixed on a spot of the wallpaper that’s started to peel.  He wants to rip it all off and find out what’s underneath, what exactly makes up this universe, this reality, this timeline.  What makes him so reluctant to leave?“Oh, no Sensei, I’m sorry,” Doppo waves his hand in front of Jakurai’s face, trying to wipe away what he said, “I didn’t mean—it’s not like I don’t like you.  I just—”“No, no,” Jakurai blinks back to reality, smiling wanly, “I agree.  I’m not the Jakurai who is supposed to be here.  It isn’t right.”Doppo tries for the rest of the afternoon to take back what he said, but the damage is already done.  The thought haunts Jakurai long after Doppo finally leaves.The Dirty Dawg have a division battle that night, but Jakurai arrives in a haze, a splitting headache cracking his head open, and a deep guilt stuck in his throat, stifling his words.He can hardly speak, let alone rap.  Even with the benefit of his microphone, Jakurai’s words come out slurred and weak.  Ramuda covers for him, and a line that should be a devastating harmony from the two of them is now just Ramuda, alone.  His meets Jakurai’s eyes and his voice breaks.They win.  The Dirty Dawg always wins.  But their opponent gets in one last devastating strike at Jakurai, a sucker punch of a shockwave of a line that hits Jakurai’s equilibrium and sends him tumbling.  He sees Samatoki’s frown, the furrow of Ichiro’s eyebrow, and wide, knowing blue eyes.Blessedly, his vision goes black. + Samatoki likes to think he’s very intimidating when he’s angry.  Ramuda’s always found him more amusing, the picture and general vibe of a lap dog yipping at his owner.  When he bursts into the room screaming What the hell was that?!, Ramuda has to laugh.“What’s so fucking funny?”“You!” Ramuda wheezes, theatrically wiping a tear from his eye, “We won, don’t be so salty, Mr. Hardcore!”A medic swiftly secreted Jakurai away after he fainted, and none of them have seen him since.  Maybe that’s why Ramuda can stay so chipper for now, the plausible deniability that everything is fine, after all.Ramuda, of course, doesn’t miss Ichijiku’s knowing look when Jakurai goes down, the twitch of a slender brow, the way she turned to leave before Jakurai even hit the ground.  There is still something she knows that Ramuda doesn’t—he hasn’t yet decided if that’s worth continuing to play her game.“Is Jakurai-san okay?” Ichiro, for his part, looks concerned.  He’s always been a good boy.“I’m sure he’s okay,” Ramuda waves his hand dismissively, and gets twin frowns in return.  Ramuda loves lying to himself, and it’s another little white lie to pretend that Samatoki and Ichiro don’t know him well enough by now to know that Ramuda is the most worried out of all of them.  But they also know him well enough to indulge him in this charade.“It was a cheap shot,” Ramuda continues, trademark lilt of his voice dropping, “He wasn’t ready!  The battle was over.”Samatoki and Ichiro don’t look convinced, but other obligations draw them away, and they allow Ramuda to sweep them out of the room, with assurances that he’ll take good care of Jakurai—I’ll even bring him breakfast in bed tomorrow and everything!—before sending them on their way.  As soon as they’re out of sight, Ramuda slinks into the hallway, trying to track down the medic in the maze of offices.“Amemura-kun,” Ichijiku is waiting for him, arms crossed, “Maybe I’ll join you.”“Pass!” Ramuda rolls his eyes, nostrils flaring like he’s just smelled something foul, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?  Or maybe you don’t have any friends in your old age.”Ichijiku doesn’t look riled; she never does, “I’m getting tired of this.  Ask Jinguji about this matter yourself, if you’d like.  Ask him what he’s doing here.”With that, she turns on a sharp heel and leaves, no explanation.  But she’s said enough.The medic is no help, telling Ramuda that he cleared Jakurai to leave about ten minutes after he came to.   Ramuda curses the medic out, and leaves in a haste, crisscrossing the office building for half an hour, until his calves are sore and the stray hairs of his bangs stick to his forehead with sweat.  He finally finds Jakurai in an empty stairwell halfway up the building, looking very much like he’s about to fling himself down the stairs.“There you are!” Ramuda climbs up to him, gripping Jakurai’s forearm, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”Jakurai doesn’t meet his eyes.  His voice sounds a million miles away, “Ramuda-kun.  Are you happy?”“What the fuck?” Ramuda feels a headache coming on, “I’m not in the mood, old man, can we get out of here?”  He hates Jakurai like this, brooding and indrawn, trapped in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.  Ramuda can’t remember the last time he saw Jakurai like this, eyes hazy and faraway with thought.“You’re happy here,” Jakurai says, voice soft as a whisper, “This is a good world.  Why ruin it?”There’s only so many ways Ramuda can say What the fuck? so he refrains, choosing instead to grab at the lapel of Jakurai’s coat, fisting his hand in the material, “What is it?  What’s wrong with you?”It’s stopped being fun, it’s stopped being amusing, whatever’s going on with Jakurai.  Ramuda’s eyes flash and his voice drops a few octaves, the fake helium-high lilt giving way to something raw, real.  When Jakurai doesn’t answer immediately he tugs at the older man’s hair, pulling sharply, bundles of purple fisted in his hand.  Jakurai’s step stutters, his knee hitting the stairs; he winces.“Nothing,” Jakurai mumbles, staring hard at a point on Ramuda’s jaw.  He can see it flexing, the imperceptible wobble of Ramuda’s bottom lip.“I don’t get it,” Ramuda releases his grip on Jakurai’s hair, beating a fist against Jakurai’s chest like he’s trying to open it up, reach in and pry Jakurai’s heart out for answers, “Nothing is supposed to mess you up like this—” his voice breaks, “—nothing but me.”Nothing else does, Jakurai goes to say, but his mouth is too dry, his mind too scrambled.“I want to go home,” he says instead, reaching for Ramuda’s hand, lacing their mismatched fingers together.  Each time is a marvel—they fit together perfectly.“Okay,” Ramuda echoes, “Let’s go home.” + Jakurai waits until Ramuda is deep asleep, until his breathing goes deep and steady, the furrow of his brow smoothing.  He can’t help but watch Ramuda for a minute, slow breaths through gently parted lips.  Eventually, Jakurai wills himself to move, getting dressed and calling a taxi.It’s a long, silent ride to Doppo’s home.  Jakurai leaves his phone at home—at Ramuda’s home, Jakurai’s mind supplies—and arrives unannounced, dressed in a coat far too thin for the cold night air.This time, there’s a flash of yellow hair and sparkling eyes at the door – Hifumi.“Sensei!” And then, a genuine smile creeping over his face, “I was wondering when you’d show up!”Jakurai blinks, waves relief and confusion both crashing inside him, “I—”He hears Doppo before he sees him, crashing out of the kitchen looking frantic, “Sensei, I’m so sorry.  He figured it out!”“He—” Jakurai almost laughs.  Hifumi was smart, but perhaps not that smart, “Hifumi-kun guessed that I was from a parallel universe?”“Not… exactly.”“Doppo told me,” Hifumi stage-whispers, before gesturing Jakurai inside, “Well, come in!”It’s a relief, honestly, to see Hifumi, and to not have to lie to him.  If there are things about this universe that Jakurai has come to treasure—rapping with Samatoki and Ichiro again, feeling any semblance of ease and comfort around Ramuda—the one thing he has missed from his old life is Matenrou.  There was a specific kind of ease he felt around Hifumi and Doppo, unique and irreplaceable.  They were precious to him, to say the very least.Hifumi ushers Jakurai into the living room, “I’ll spare you the introduction, since you already know me.  Doppo’s told me all about you.”“Hifumi!” Doppo whines, like a kid being embarrassed by his parents; Hifumi just laughs.“I keep telling Doppo you need to do something more dramatic,” Hifumi says, sitting down and looking up at where Jakurai stands, awkward and conspicuous in the middle of the living room, “Wow, you’re a lot taller than I imagined.”Jakurai smiles, sitting down across from him, “I get that a lot, actually.”“Sensei, is everything okay?” Doppo sits down next to Hifumi, and they fix him with dual stares.“I’m—” Jakurai frowns.  He could lie, if he hadn’t already shown all his cards by showing up here in the middle of the night unannounced.  There are so many times, in his own universe, that Jakurai has lied to Hifumi and Doppo, both big and small.  They imagine him to be a someone he’s not, someone he only wants to be.  Jakurai hides his past, his true feelings, his true motivations.Maybe, for once, it’s okay to let that go.“I’m not,” Jakurai answers, burying his head in his hands, “I’m not okay.”“Sensei…”“Jakurai-san, I’m sorry,” Doppo’s voice sounds thick, “I didn’t realize how hard this was on you.”“Doppo-kun, don’t worry,” Jakurai peeks out from his finger, smiling, “I feel better being here.”They spend a bit of time just being together—Jakurai tells them about Matenrou, about his universe.  Hifumi moves to sit next to Jakurai, playing with his hair, braiding it absentmindedly.  It reminds him, for a split second, of Ramuda, and Jakurai pauses, realizing how close to sunrise it is.“Jakurai?”“Sorry, Hifumi-kun,” Jakurai smiles, “I didn’t realize how late it was.”“Does Ramuda know you’re here?” Doppo asks.Before Jakurai can answer, Hifumi lets out a small shriek, popping off the couch, “I just realized!  A love confession!”“Hifumi…” Doppo groans.  Jakurai smiles, wondering how many times a day Doppo gently admonishes him.“I mean it!” Hifumi turns to Jakurai, “Aren’t you and Ramuda-san, like… you know.”“I’m not sure that would help,” Jakurai smiles, “But I’ll think about it.”  It’s not a terrible idea, given all the other foolish things he’s tried.  And he feels a bit at the end of his rope—maybe the best thing would be to just let his grip slip and fall off the edge.He takes a look out the window, the milky blue of near-twilight, “Thank you for your help.  I… think I got too lost here.   I forgot that this isn’t my life after all, this isn’t something that I’m entitled to.”Doppo and Hifumi look at each other, then back at Jakurai, matching expressions on their face, halfway between pity and affection.“Sensei… why don’t you hang out for a little bit longer?” Hifumi says, “We don’t have to talk about,” he waves his hand in the air, “Whatever, and all that.”“‘Whatever and all that,’” Doppo echoes, giving Hifumi a withering look, “I think what Hifumi means to say is…”Hifumi jumps up again, leaning over Doppo towards Jakurai, “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”Jakurai feels something inside him soften, a small burden lifted from his shoulders.“Yes, I would really like that.” +  Unknown
(07:12) The package was dropped off at your house.
You

(07:13) ‘the package’…. you’re sooooooo dramatic
Unknown
(07:15) Did you receive it or not?
(07:16) You paid a high price for it, so I wouldn’t be so flippant.
(07:16) I do expect full cooperation moving forward.  You
(07:20) shut up old hag
(07:20) i got it

+ Jakurai stays longer than he means to, enabled by Hifumi and Doppo.  He falls asleep on the couch, and Doppo covers him with a blanket, letting him sleep in well past noon.  Jakurai can’t remember the last time he slept in so long.“Stay for lunch!” Hifumi begs, tugging on Jakurai’s sleeve, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.“Thank you Hifumi-kun,” Jakurai ruffles a hand through Hifumi’s hair, and he makes a happy noise, leaning into Jakurai’s hand.  Jakurai didn’t realize he missed Hifumi so much.Doppo pulls Hifumi away, “Let him go,” he says, before looking up at Jakurai, “Or, I mean.  You are welcome to stay.”It takes another few hours to finally leave, and Jakurai takes the train back this time.  The seasons are turning, and the days getting shorter—by the time Jakurai gets off the train and shoots Ramuda a text, the sun is already starting to dip over the horizon.
(4:40) Ramuda are you home?

(4:41) Can we talk about something?
Ramuda isn’t home.  He isn’t anywhere in the apartment, and Ichiro and Samatoki have no idea where he is when Jakurai calls them.  Jakurai is seconds away from jumping out of his own skin when he finally tracks Ramuda down, alone on the roof of the apartment building, looking out on the lights of Shibuya, face half dark and unreadable.“Ramuda-kun…” Jakurai is out of breath, “I need to tell you—"“I know,” Ramuda says, before Jakurai can even finish his thought, “I know you’re… whatever.  Universe-travelling man, parallel world, alternate timeline, whatever.”  Voice smaller now as he turns to Jakurai with an unreadable smile, “I know.”

Jakurai takes a step across the roof, feeling the gravel crunch under his boots.  He wants to ask how, but what comes out is, “And you believe it?  You believe me?“Why wouldn’t I?” Ramuda turns, and he’s smiling but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “There are more outlandish things about you than this.”That’s a truth that bites at Jakurai’s ego, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.  I didn’t know what to do.   I didn’t know… what to even say.”“I’m not mad!” Ramuda turns to him, grinning, “That would be silly, since I’d probably keep it a secret too.  Who knows, maybe I’m also from an alternate universe!  Or maybe I’m a robot, or an alien!”Jakurai frowns, “Ramuda-kun… please take this a bit seriously.  I have to make this right.”The edge of danger seems a familiar place for Ramuda; he naturally gravitates to the lip of the roof, stepping so his foot is hanging off the edge, “This is what I fucking hate about you.”And before Jakurai can open his mouth to say, What? or Why? or Of course you do, it’s no surprise—Ramuda tips over the ledge.  A slow-motion movement, the pivot of his feet as his heels fall over the edge, the flutter of his jacket, the flash of panic on his face.Jakurai’s never been more grateful for his long reach.  His mind goes empty, crossing the roof in a split second, fingers scrambling for purchase, gripping the front of Ramuda’s shirt with white knuckles.  A button pops beneath his palms, and Jakurai grips tighter, yanking Ramuda off the edge, pulling him against his chest.“Christ, Ramuda,” Jakurai buries his face in the top of Ramuda’s head, shivering, “Don’t fucking do that to me.”It takes a second, but Ramuda eventually moves, nestling into the plane of Jakurai’s chest, hands gripping loose strands of purple hair where they curtain around them, “Do what?” he says, voice low, “Leave?”Jakurai’s ice goes cold.  His hands tighten around Ramuda’s shoulders, “Fine.  You’ve made your point.”“So, you’re staying?”“No,” Jakurai’s Adam’s apple bobs, “and you trying to kill yourself isn’t going to change my mind.”Ramuda finally pulls away, pushing Jakurai’s arms off, “I knew you’d save me.  I guess I shouldn’t always expect you to, though.”“Ramuda…” Jakurai wipes a hand down his face.  It’s exhausting.  Exhausting enough to admit he has to leave, that he can’t stay here, in whatever strange veneer of happiness that exists in this universe.  It’s more exhausting still to have to defend it to the one person that made him so reluctant to leave in the first place.“There’s no guarantee I can even leave,” Jakurai says, “And if I do… you’ll get your own Jakurai back.  The one who belongs here.”“And there’s no guarantee he’ll come back!” Ramuda counters, “And maybe I don’t want him anymore.  Maybe I want you.”“You’re being childish.”Ramuda scrunches up his face, sticking his tongue out, “And you’re being selfish.”That brings a pause, “Do tell,” Jakurai says, swiping an arm out, taking a step back.“You think you know yourself so well,” Ramuda matches Jakurai’s step, moving closer, but just out of reach, the dead space between them like a universe of its own, “But all your self-imposed rules and ethics are just your ego.  And that’s more important to you than me.”A gust of wind whips across the roof, and Jakurai has to move a plane of hair out of his face, frowning as he runs fingers through his hair, “You might be right.”“Wow,” Ramuda lets out a bark of a laugh, cruel and loud, “Fuck you, Jakurai.”“No—don’t,” Jakurai reaches for Ramuda’s hand, feels the swipe of air when Ramuda pulls away sharply, “If you knew—I had to find my peace where I could.  And I wasn’t—in my universe, in my timeline, whatever word you want to give it, that wasn’t possible with you.”“Then try harder,” Ramuda bites back, not unkindly, “You’re foolish to think I’m a different person here.  You always knew what you signed up for.  I didn’t change, you did.”Jakurai opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.  He feels the air leave his lungs, because Ramuda is right, too right considering the differences in their realities.  Jakurai was the one who decided to leave his old life behind, knowing what that meant, knowing it made a hypocrite of him.  Knowing that it meant leaving behind the good with the bad.“I had you followed,” Ramuda says, suddenly, apparently tired of waiting for Jakurai’s response, “That’s how I knew you were from… not here, or whatever.  Ichijiku knows too.  So, maybe you should leave.”“Ramuda-kun,” Jakurai pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers.  That doesn’t matter now.  He’s not even mad, can hardly bring himself to even be surprised—he should expect this kind of behavior from Ramuda.  It’s those cracked and twisted bits of Ramuda that had fascinated Jakurai in the first placed, pulled him in, made him fall in love.“You should leave,” Ramuda repeats, words firm but voice weak.“I should,” Jakurai takes a step forward, reaching for Ramuda’s face, cupping it in his large palm, “It doesn’t matter what you did.  Here or there or in any reality.  I’m just trying to make things right, and I’ve made my peace with that.  With you.”Jakurai traces his thumb across Ramuda’s lips, and Ramuda bites at him.  But he’s smiling, finally, “You can’t ever make peace with me, shitty old man.  I won’t allow it.”“I don’t like telling you you’re right twice in one night,” Jakurai laughs, leaning down to press his forehead against Ramuda’s.  His hair falls in curtains around them, creating their own private world for the moment.“Get used to it,” Ramuda mumbles, leaning up to kiss Jakurai, a bit too soft, a bit too chaste, like he’s holding something back.  Jakurai holds his face gently, like it could shatter at any moment.This time, with feeling: “Let’s go home.” + They start undressing each other before they even reach the door, Jakurai stumbling in the genkan as he toes out of his shoes, shrugging off his coat and leaving it in the hallway.  That could be tomorrow’s problem, along with so many others.They collapse onto the unmade bed, and Jakurai’s legs fall open easily.  No more use holding back, pretending he’s anything but raw and unbearable vulnerable around Ramuda.  Ramuda is quiet as he prepares Jakurai, fingers tentative when they trace his rim, pressing into him slow and deliberate, waiting until Jakurai’s face is wet with tears of frustration, his hole sloppy with lube and over-prepared.“I love you,” Ramuda mumbles, so fast and low Jakurai almost misses it; he has no time to respond before Ramuda folds his legs, finally—finally—pressing his cock inside in one harsh thrust, hips hitting flush against Jakurai’s ass.“I—Ramu—” Jakurai hiccups, turning away, pressing his face into the sheets.  His neck is sweaty, long strands of hair plastered there, and Ramuda leans over to bite down, sucking a dark hickey into the pale skin.  He’s too preoccupied to see Jakurai’s tears; not of frustration but of… happiness?  Relief?  Regret?  Jakurai isn’t sure himself, can’t catch his breath long enough to inspect his own feelings.“I’ve—mm, I’ve always,” it’s hard to get two words out with Ramuda pressing him into the mattress, sheating his full length into Jakurai with each thrust, then pulling out until just the head is inside, just to feel Jakurai’s hole flutter greedily around it.“I’ve always loved you,” Jakurai gets out, chest heaving.  And even with his legs spread and hole wet and used and face dirty with tears, this is what makes Jakurai feel the most vulnerable.  He decides to stop guarding his heart, stop policing his own feelings.  It hurts, in a way.“I know,” Ramuda whispers, his real voice coming through.He thrusts back in, and Jakurai keens as he stays there, grinding deep instead of pulling out.  Ramuda’s breath quickens and he comes deep inside Jakurai, pulling at the older man’s hips to get deeper, get that extra millimeter inside.Jakurai throws his head back, riding out Ramuda’s orgasm.  He feels Ramuda pull out, slow and careful, and then feels him climb onto his lap, holding up Jakurai’s own still-swollen cock.“Are you—”“Shh, your turn,” Ramuda smiles and winks, holding a finger up to his lips.  He must have prepared himself while Jakurai was still recovering, but not nearly enough.  When he sinks down on Jakurai’s cock it’s an almost unbearable heat.  Each inch is a stretch, and Ramuda whines, still shivering and oversensitive from his own orgasm.“Ramuda,” Jakurai breaths, reaching up to wrap his hands around Ramuda’s waist.  He’s small, too small; Jakurai’s thumbs nearly meet.  Ramuda’s cock is going soft, but still leaking as it bounces with each movement of Ramuda’s hips, and Jakurai reaches down to stroke it softly, trying to bring Ramuda to one more orgasm.He hears Ramuda hiccup and gasp above him; he’s crying, maybe at the pain, maybe the melodrama of it all.  “More,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and it takes Jakurai a moment to understand that he really means, “I love you more.”Ramuda goes still as he comes again, just a dribble of liquid coating Jakurai’s palm.  Jakurai follows soon after, pressing bruises into the curve of Ramuda’s hips as he comes, body shaking with the force of it.They both collapse in exhaustion—physical and mental—and Jakurai barely has time to wrap both arms around Ramuda before they’re out like a light. + The first thing Jakurai feels when he wakes up is a cold cloth against his skin, cleaning him.  He whimpers when it swipes against his sensitive hole, but Ramuda shushes him, dropping a kiss to his forehead to placate him.“All clean,” Ramuda says, depositing the towel and climbing back into bed, wrapping his arms and legs around Jakurai’s body, warming him.  He’s clean and freshly showered, “That took a lot out of me, jeez.  Maybe you’re not losing your edge in your old age, after all.”“Maybe,” Jakurai chuckles, leaning a cheek against Ramuda’s head, smelling the perfume of his shampoo still lingering in his hair, “I’m sorry.”“Sorry for what?  It’s a suuuuper long list, you know.”“I’m not entirely sure,” Jakurai laughs, “I’m sorry we’re so complicated.  I’m sorry nothing can be easy with us.  Maybe it’s my fault.”Ramuda nips at Jakurai’s jaw, “It might be my fault.  Might.”It’s hard to lay blame when there’s so much to go around.  Jakurai used to blanket himself in it, the guilt swallowing him whole and eating at his relationships, hollowing them out until the memories that used to keep him warm went rancid and rotten in his mind.  Until Jakurai was left to pick at the rinds of who he used to be, salvaging what he could.  There weren’t many people who could understand that, who could accept that for what it was. Ramuda could.“I’m guessing since you said you love me all dramatically that you’re going to wake up in your own universe,” Ramuda says, voice faux-casual, “That’s usually how these kinda stories go, isn’t it?”“I would like to say, first of all, that you were the one who dramatically declared your love for me,” Jakurai says, and Ramuda snickers, “But you might be right once more.  Even if I don’t feel that we’ve resolved anything.”“Who cares?” Ramuda yawns, wriggling closer to Jakurai, “Not everything has to be tied up all neat with a little bow.”Jakurai just hums in response, feeling Ramuda’s heartbeat against his own, the comforting reminder that he’s still there, “I do love you.”He can feel the shape of Ramuda’s smile against his neck, “So, you love me no matter the universe?  Even when you hate me?”“I do,” the answer comes easily, and Jakurai wishes it wouldn’t, “I can’t change that.  Even if there’s no happy ending for us.”Thin arms squeeze Jakurai tighter, and Ramuda buries his face in the crook of Jakurai’s shoulder, lips pressing against his collar bone, leaving a trail of small kisses there.  A reminder.“That’s fine.  Happy endings are overrated.” + 
My sincerest apologies, but I truly don’t believe I can ever come to like you.

I don’t mind! Because I despise you!
 + This time, the first thing Jakurai feels when he wakes is the telltale scratch of cheap hotel sheets.  He knows right away that he’s back; Ramuda would never sleep on anything less than 1200-thread count Egyptian cotton.Someone starts knocking on his hotel door before Jakurai can even blink himself awake, a frantic tap tap tap that continues until he lumbers to the door, undoing the chain on the door and opening it to reveal Hifumi and Doppo, concerned countenanced on both faces.“Sensei!  Are you okay?”“Sensei!” Hifumi echoes, pulling at Jakurai’s sleeve, “We were worried, it’s not like you to oversleep.”“Ah,” Jakurai looks over at the clock and sees the time.  They are indeed quite late to the battle, “I’m sorry, Hifumi-kun, Doppo-kun, I was—”“Having a good dream!” Hifumi interrupts, a bit too spot on for Jakurai’s liking, “I always have trouble waking up if I’m in a nice dream.”“I wish I had nice dreams,” Doppo groans.“It was… something like that,” Jakurai smiles down at his teammates, “But I am happy to see you.  A dream can’t compare with reality.”“Sensei is so wise!” Hifumi says, laughing, then moving to push Jakurai back toward his room, “Get ready, get ready!  I don’t want to lose to Fling Posse on a technicality.”“I’ll be just five minutes,” Jakurai promises, closing the door to get dressed.  His hair takes the longest; he brushes it out and tries not to remember thin fingers tangled in it, plaiting it in elaborate braids without permission, undoing and redoing them at their pleasure.Jakurai opens the curtains before he leaves, taking in the view.  The room overlooks the courtyard where divisions are beginning to congregate for the battles.  It’s easy to spot Ramuda, a speck of pink bouncing among the rest.  He stands out, no matter the circumstance.“Sensei?” Doppo calls for him from the hallway, “Are you okay?”A loaded question.  Jakurai watches Ramuda and feels same spike in his heart as always—the mixture of regret, anger, betrayal, love.  He used to feel he had to rectify those feelings, put them in neat little boxes, label them, and put them away in their proper place.  Perhaps it doesn’t have to be that way.  Perhaps it can’t.“I might not be,” Jakurai says.  He’s not sure if Doppo hears him, “I will be.”For the first time in a long time, he’s at peace with that.