Until the Weather Turns Apocalyptic
Warning(s): Child abuse and homophobia
This is bad. Its the worst thing I've ever made, please don't read it.
Okuyasu tries to remember the name of his first crush, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It had been before Kira, before Josuke, even before the Arrow ripped his Stand from his chest. It wasn't that long ago. Not really. Three years ago? Maybe four? But everything was so different back then, and it was sometimes hard for Okuyasu to believe that events then and events now existed as a continuous unbroken chain. That, in fact, those events ━ along with events stretching far back before those of his life, and perhaps extended far after ━ were all part of a long history of bloodlines and rivalries, Stand Arrows and Stone Masks, determination and destiny; which had, all-in-all, very little to do with him, and are actually what led him here. Thinking about it too hard makes him dizzy and irritable, but he wants to remember. He wants to ground himself firmly in the knowledge that his life, an unbroken chain of events stretching out behind him, had happened. The surreal and bizarre circumstances of his life were, in face, his.
They were still living in Tokyo, in the apartment they had shared when they were still a family. That, too, had felt like another life entirely. So, while the apartment was, by most standards, perfectly ordinary, it was it was far more haunted than his current home in Morioh, which had been drafty, moldy, and practically falling apart until this past winter, when Josuke insisted on calling in some favors with The Speedwagon Foundation to help fix what Crazy Diamond alone couldn't. With that, the final pieces of his life had fallen back into place ━ different than they had been before, but whole ━ and he struggled to remember shape they had been when they were broken.
He'd been in middle school at the time. He wasn't sure what Keicho had been doing. In spite of the modified gakuran his brother always wore, Okuyasu found it hard to actually imagine Keicho ever attending high school. He didn't know for sure, though. He'd already learned by then not to ask his brother too many questions. Keicho hadn't quite been violent yet, in the strictest sense. He wasn't prone to fly into senseless rages and beat Okuyasu the way their father had, but Keicho knew how to hurt Okuyasu without his fists.
Their father's anger was like a forest fire. The smallest spark would set him off. Often, Okuyasu wouldn't know what he had done to provoke the man's rage. The embers were already lit inside him, and it would take almost nothing to cause him to explode and consume everything in his path. Eventually, though, he would burn himself out, and in the resulting calm Okuyasu could almost feel like he'd be able to regrow.
Keicho's anger, on the other hand, was cold. Keicho was calm, intelligent, and soft-spoken, but there was a storm just underneath the older teen's skin. Okuyasu knew that if he wasn't careful, those winds that rippled under the surface would rip through him. Keicho's words cut through him in ways bruises never quite did, and even when it was over, the anger would settle over their lives like a frost that wouldn't dissipate. It built over the years, progressively burying them alive. It would stick to Okuyasu's bones and freeze his blood, and he couldn't imagine ever feeling warm again. It filled Okuyasu with a constant dread. Often, he'd sit alone and still for hours, afraid to disturb Keicho, and he'd want to disappear ━ he'd want everything to disappear.
When Keicho's violence finally became physical, it had been because of Okuyasu's crush. No one ever told Okuyasu that he wasn't supposed to like boys. Having never spoken to anyone else on the matter, he just assumed it was normal to like everyone, the way he did. This boy had been in Okuyasu's class. They hardly ever spoke, but that didn't matter. Okuyasu hardly ever spoke to anyone back then. He was popular, a slightly above-average student, and on the soccer team. He was everything Okuyasu wasn't; the kind of guy everyone had a crush on in middle school. Well, everyone who liked guys. It probably didn't matter that Okuyasu couldn't remember his name.
He can't imagine, now, why he had actually told Keicho. He remembers that he had come home one afternoon to a rare sight. The lights in their apartment were actually on ━ Keicho usually kept them off unless absolutely necessary. It was silent, but for once, the silence didn't feel too oppressive. It was almost calm. Okuyasu found Keicho sitting at the kitchen table with a number of books laid out before him. Closest to him was what appeared to be a battered old journal, handwritten in what Okuyasu now knew to be Arabic. Okuyasu had given this same book to Jotaro ━ to The Speedwagon Foundation ━ last year, not long after Keicho died. Curious, but still unwilling to disturb his brother, Okuyasu entered the room as quietly as he could. For minutes, he stood there while his brother quietly read. When Keicho finally looked up, he had actually smiled at him and asked how school had been. So, Okuyasu told him.
The ice spread too quickly, freezing the air in Okuyasu's lungs. Cracks formed at the edges of his vision, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream or cry; he could barely manage a shocked whimper as the hail slashed at his face. No, he realized too late, that's a belt. A hot bead of blood ran past his eye and down the side of his nose, and only then did he think to put his arms up. Okuyasu had never seen his brother like this before. He had never even heard some of the words he used, but somehow, through the vicious onslaught of Keicho's blizzard, hazy understanding dawned on him, and he knew their meaning. So, when the storm was over and the ice settled in his heart, he resolved to only feel that way about girls from then on.
It's summer now, though ━ his second summer in Morioh. His brother's been dead for over a year, and Okuyasu is still here. He isn't sure exactly what made Keicho choose to move them here, maybe it was fate, but Okuyasu is glad. Vacation homes along the coast stood empty most months, attesting to how outsiders saw the town. Salary men and their families filled them now. They'd come here on vacation, to fish, sail, or just lounge lazily on the beach. In other words, they'd come to enjoy the summer, and though Okuyasu was a permanent resident ━ a familiar face to the old ladies at the grocery store who shared their gossip with him or the man who owned the ice cream shop and always remembered his usual order ━ he feels like that's why he'd come, too. Winter could hardly touch him here.
Josuke had walked with him to the cemetery, and his arm was slung lazily over Okuyasu's shoulder. Josuke is warm. It was a comfortable, familiar warmth that Okuyasu always welcomed, even under midsummer's heat. Okuyasu had to look up at the taller boy, taller still due to Okuyasu's perpetual slouch. Maybe he'd never fully unlearn how to make himself small, having spent too much time huddled to preserve his own warmth, but now he's sure all the ice left in him is in stubborn, bitter patches clinging to the last days of winter before they're overwhelmed and finally melt away.
Indigo eyes turn toward him. The color reminds Okuyasu of long summer nights spent talking for hours about nothing in particular and watching the stars, and he can feel his face heating up. Josuke smiles warmly as his perfectly arched eyebrows kneaded together in vague concern. "You gonna be alright, bro?" Josuke's voice is warm, too, and rolls over every syllable in gentle, lazy waves. Okuyasu smiles, and it makes Josuke blush. It will be a few more weeks until Josuke confesses, flustered and embarrassed by the cliché, that Okuyasu's smile reminds him of the sun ━ warm and bright, and probably the most beautiful thing Josuke has ever seen.
"Yeah, man, no worries," Okuyasu finally responds. "Let's get ice cream on the way back."
The title is a reference to the song Valentine, by Atlas.
If you've ever wondered how Oku got the scars on his face, I'm so sorry I did this to you.
This is bad. Its the worst thing I've ever made, please don't read it.
They were still living in Tokyo, in the apartment they had shared when they were still a family. That, too, had felt like another life entirely. So, while the apartment was, by most standards, perfectly ordinary, it was it was far more haunted than his current home in Morioh, which had been drafty, moldy, and practically falling apart until this past winter, when Josuke insisted on calling in some favors with The Speedwagon Foundation to help fix what Crazy Diamond alone couldn't. With that, the final pieces of his life had fallen back into place ━ different than they had been before, but whole ━ and he struggled to remember shape they had been when they were broken.
He'd been in middle school at the time. He wasn't sure what Keicho had been doing. In spite of the modified gakuran his brother always wore, Okuyasu found it hard to actually imagine Keicho ever attending high school. He didn't know for sure, though. He'd already learned by then not to ask his brother too many questions. Keicho hadn't quite been violent yet, in the strictest sense. He wasn't prone to fly into senseless rages and beat Okuyasu the way their father had, but Keicho knew how to hurt Okuyasu without his fists.
Their father's anger was like a forest fire. The smallest spark would set him off. Often, Okuyasu wouldn't know what he had done to provoke the man's rage. The embers were already lit inside him, and it would take almost nothing to cause him to explode and consume everything in his path. Eventually, though, he would burn himself out, and in the resulting calm Okuyasu could almost feel like he'd be able to regrow.
Keicho's anger, on the other hand, was cold. Keicho was calm, intelligent, and soft-spoken, but there was a storm just underneath the older teen's skin. Okuyasu knew that if he wasn't careful, those winds that rippled under the surface would rip through him. Keicho's words cut through him in ways bruises never quite did, and even when it was over, the anger would settle over their lives like a frost that wouldn't dissipate. It built over the years, progressively burying them alive. It would stick to Okuyasu's bones and freeze his blood, and he couldn't imagine ever feeling warm again. It filled Okuyasu with a constant dread. Often, he'd sit alone and still for hours, afraid to disturb Keicho, and he'd want to disappear ━ he'd want everything to disappear.
When Keicho's violence finally became physical, it had been because of Okuyasu's crush. No one ever told Okuyasu that he wasn't supposed to like boys. Having never spoken to anyone else on the matter, he just assumed it was normal to like everyone, the way he did. This boy had been in Okuyasu's class. They hardly ever spoke, but that didn't matter. Okuyasu hardly ever spoke to anyone back then. He was popular, a slightly above-average student, and on the soccer team. He was everything Okuyasu wasn't; the kind of guy everyone had a crush on in middle school. Well, everyone who liked guys. It probably didn't matter that Okuyasu couldn't remember his name.
He can't imagine, now, why he had actually told Keicho. He remembers that he had come home one afternoon to a rare sight. The lights in their apartment were actually on ━ Keicho usually kept them off unless absolutely necessary. It was silent, but for once, the silence didn't feel too oppressive. It was almost calm. Okuyasu found Keicho sitting at the kitchen table with a number of books laid out before him. Closest to him was what appeared to be a battered old journal, handwritten in what Okuyasu now knew to be Arabic. Okuyasu had given this same book to Jotaro ━ to The Speedwagon Foundation ━ last year, not long after Keicho died. Curious, but still unwilling to disturb his brother, Okuyasu entered the room as quietly as he could. For minutes, he stood there while his brother quietly read. When Keicho finally looked up, he had actually smiled at him and asked how school had been. So, Okuyasu told him.
The ice spread too quickly, freezing the air in Okuyasu's lungs. Cracks formed at the edges of his vision, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream or cry; he could barely manage a shocked whimper as the hail slashed at his face. No, he realized too late, that's a belt. A hot bead of blood ran past his eye and down the side of his nose, and only then did he think to put his arms up. Okuyasu had never seen his brother like this before. He had never even heard some of the words he used, but somehow, through the vicious onslaught of Keicho's blizzard, hazy understanding dawned on him, and he knew their meaning. So, when the storm was over and the ice settled in his heart, he resolved to only feel that way about girls from then on.
It's summer now, though ━ his second summer in Morioh. His brother's been dead for over a year, and Okuyasu is still here. He isn't sure exactly what made Keicho choose to move them here, maybe it was fate, but Okuyasu is glad. Vacation homes along the coast stood empty most months, attesting to how outsiders saw the town. Salary men and their families filled them now. They'd come here on vacation, to fish, sail, or just lounge lazily on the beach. In other words, they'd come to enjoy the summer, and though Okuyasu was a permanent resident ━ a familiar face to the old ladies at the grocery store who shared their gossip with him or the man who owned the ice cream shop and always remembered his usual order ━ he feels like that's why he'd come, too. Winter could hardly touch him here.
Josuke had walked with him to the cemetery, and his arm was slung lazily over Okuyasu's shoulder. Josuke is warm. It was a comfortable, familiar warmth that Okuyasu always welcomed, even under midsummer's heat. Okuyasu had to look up at the taller boy, taller still due to Okuyasu's perpetual slouch. Maybe he'd never fully unlearn how to make himself small, having spent too much time huddled to preserve his own warmth, but now he's sure all the ice left in him is in stubborn, bitter patches clinging to the last days of winter before they're overwhelmed and finally melt away.
Indigo eyes turn toward him. The color reminds Okuyasu of long summer nights spent talking for hours about nothing in particular and watching the stars, and he can feel his face heating up. Josuke smiles warmly as his perfectly arched eyebrows kneaded together in vague concern. "You gonna be alright, bro?" Josuke's voice is warm, too, and rolls over every syllable in gentle, lazy waves. Okuyasu smiles, and it makes Josuke blush. It will be a few more weeks until Josuke confesses, flustered and embarrassed by the cliché, that Okuyasu's smile reminds him of the sun ━ warm and bright, and probably the most beautiful thing Josuke has ever seen.
"Yeah, man, no worries," Okuyasu finally responds. "Let's get ice cream on the way back."
The title is a reference to the song Valentine, by Atlas.
If you've ever wondered how Oku got the scars on his face, I'm so sorry I did this to you.
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