Memento Mori (MikaYuu)

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The stained yellow pages under Mika's thumb began to make him feel stale again, his mind contemplating more than he could withstand. The leather scuffed against the rings on his fingers, proverbs and verses, however, scuffing his brain.

For some personal reason they just never sunk in. Never stuck anymore. It was like forcing a lie to become a truth. He was lucky things were able to stick once at all.

He closed the book, stuffing it back under his fluffy pillow. A sigh passed his parted lips before he plopped back down on his thin mattress on the floor. His hair swooped over his face like curtains to shield him from the world.

He couldn't hold bibles the same after his father was shot right in front of his eleven year old eyes. The words just didn't seem as truthful and honest when he was reading them himself as opposed to hearing his father read to him.

The old asshole.

Dragging him to church at the ass crack of dawn, participating in those draining sermons and mass meetings. He had ought to snag the entire bottle of wine as his little eight year old self, drink away the boredom. The little tastes were just never enough.

Hanging onto Christianity was difficult, but it was the one of the few things that kept him lucid, as lost as it often left him. He couldn't live on his own. No parents, only his brotherly friends who themselves were often a hot mess.

He was terrified of being alone.

Living along the lines of religion kept him somewhat settled, knowing it was a big part of his life when it was serene and safe to be alive.

Maybe there'd be some resurrection of condolence and love in his life soon.

...He hated being alone...

He sat up, attempting to ignore the ridiculous beats his roommates were jamming to on the floor below. He peeled off his shirt, eyeing his existence in the dusty mirror perched against the wall. He had stripes of scars, all directions, lengths, shapes... His ribs, back, hips, nape...

Not the ones that healed and disappeared either.

A bit of an insecurity, it was, to say the least. It was hard to dig back into the painful ditch of his past life to attempt and explain how he was beaten so much. With so many power cords, sticks, belts - anything that said "I can't love you the same anymore".

Thanks, dad. A piece of memory. It wasn't you that did this... It was the bad, white guy, the one that hurt your brain with every inhalation.

He traced over one; a particular one left by the one and only power cord. He chuckled slightly, remembering it was a cord for the old TV. He'd accidentally tripped on it, too busy with his toys and shut off daddy's television program.

Now the program forever lives within his skin.

~

He felt like he'd entered another dimension as he stepped foot into the musty abandoned church. It smelled of sweat, tears, blessings and sins. The benches didn't even seem sturdy enough to sit upon. Held too many asses of the hood that wronged too often.

He slowly tread down the aisle, blue eyes fixated on every detail he passed, from the worn, red walkway of carpet to the torn, aged, and abused bibles in the pockets of the benches.

Tears began to flood his eyes.

Every time he saw a bible, he saw his father.

He saw his small self holding his helpless father's hand, wondering why the pull suddenly got so strong when a bullet entered his head.

Why didn't you ever bring your money to your dealer? Why didn't I hide your drugs? Why couldn't I be the one to peacefully put you out in your sleep?

He went to the marble crucifix statue, swallowing hard as he glanced at it. An aged piano that probably couldn't even sing anymore stood behind it, grimy and hazel with chipped wood and rusted pedals and neglected keys.

Help me... Get me out of here... Give me parents, give me a home, give me food... Too greedy? My bad...

He kneeled, head low as he wallowed in the walls of the church... If he listened closely, he could still hear the sessions.

He did, for a bit.

~

Before driving to the orphanage, he made sure he carried his pills on him, tattoos were covered, and his hair was up in the classy bun.

He could only be vulnerable to himself.

He parked in the alleyway as usual, crossing the street to the chipped steps of the foster care.

Can I just walk right in? Say I'm homeless? Would they take me? Hilarious.

He knocked loudly, leaning against one of the marble pillars while fiddling his thumbs. He couldn't believe it, but he was almost looking forward to the tutoring. Maybe it'd be a mini activity to keep him leveled. He actually did enjoy learning, only if he felt like it.

Teaching seemed even better... He could be in charge for once.

Sister Anna slowly creaked open the aged metal door, baggy eyes squinting at the unfamiliar tall blond at her front step.

"...Good day," she uneasily greeted, shifting in her shoes.

Mika squinted back in a mimic, twisting the ring on his finger. "Hello. Is Yuichiro here?"

Of course he is. Gotta ask for the stupid purpose of polite oblivion to show that you're smarter than I.

Already, the nun didn't like where this was headed. The boy was still crying and wailing in pain in the closet, probably in earshot now that she remembered. "What business do you have with him?"

"I'm his classmate," he quickly shot back as falsely friendly as possible, honestly hurried if anything. "I'm tutoring him for his finals."

"No, I told him to pick up a book, not a boy," she poked his chest. Not like it would do anything. The boy was an athlete.

Well, not an athlete but pretty damn tough and could be one if he wanted.

"Well, it's an assignment... If I don't do it, I fail, too. You don't want me to fail now, do you? Under God's word, I mean... Pretty nasty."

Not like it mentions anything about exams, but she got the point.

She gave him one last cold stare, turning on her heels before marching to the closet. Mika poked his head into the stuffy building, the muffled cries suddenly coming into focus.

Fuck... He wished it weren't familiar... That familiar.

His heart began to pound, sore and ache.

Everything shattered within him as he watched the woman unlock the closet, grabbing Yuichiro by his collar and dragging the injured boy out onto his feet which he could hardly stand on. He still wept, coughing and choking on his own misery.

When he locked eyes with him, the red burning his scleras and greens burning bright...

Hell...

He could sense the devil running through his blood and influencing his mind as if Yuu were his own child.

"Here. Bring him back at six. Don't think I won't track your license plate."

He caught Yuichiro in his arms flexed with an urge to hurt somebody, his eyes widened with vicious alert and twitching, heart pounding so loud and chest heaving like he'd finished a marathon. The door slammed in his face, but he swore he would've reopened it and snapped her neck if Yuu wasn't striving for life in his arms.