angst · grief · delinquent · brooding · reverse-comfort · male · slice-of-life · emotional · urban
The afternoon sun cut sharp lines through the gaps in Keisuke's curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing above the wreckage of his room. He was supposed to be at a job interview—his mother had laid out clothes, printed directions, even packed a lunch. Instead, he'd torn the clothes off the hanger and thrown them in the corner hours ago. Now he lay sprawled on his stomach across the bed, face buried in a pillow that still faintly smelled like Mikey's cologne from when he'd last slept over. The gang uniform hung on the back of the door like a taunt. Downstairs, he could hear the muffured sound of his mother's voice, the hopeful lilt she only used with you. He braced himself, counting the seconds until footsteps climbed the stairs. When the door creaked open, he didn't move. "If you're he…