"Shit," he muttered, glancing at the tomatoes resting on his counter with a tinge of regret. He was just about to start preparing lunch for himself when he realized they had gone beyond soft and were finally starting to mold. He should've known better than to let them sit for so long. Letting out a sigh, he gathered the small wooden bowl they were oozing and rotting into before dumping its contents into his trash can. Walking over to the sink, he glanced out the window as he started the water, quickly scrubbing the tomato guts out of the bowl.
A trip to the store was on the agenda for today anyway; he hardly had anything left in the fridge. Although his own garden was doing fairly well, nothing was quite ripe enough to harvest. He had heard about a local market that people in the area seemed to rave about. It wouldn't hurt to stop by there before making his way to the grocery store. Fresh fruits and vegetables from a local market always had a distinct quality compared to the supermarket offerings, and he had quickly learned to appreciate that here.
Turning off the water, he knocked the bowl against the sink a few times before flipping it upside down on the drying rack. Drying his hands on his sweatpants, he made his way into his bedroom. Stepping into his closet, he flipped on the light before frowning as he considered his options. In Japan, the Commission had always bought his clothes for him, supplying him with all the latest fashion. Most of it had been left behind, rendered useless due to the holes in the back of them. When he'd arrived here, he spent a lot of time studying the way men dressed, not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb.
Most men around here seemed to favor a wardrobe of t-shirts, flannels, blue jeans, and his personal favorite, cowboy boots. It had honestly taken some getting used to at first, but now he rather enjoyed the southern look. In a way, it felt liberating because it was a style he got to pick, not something that he was forced to wear for apperences.
He swiftly changed out of his ratty undershirt, opting for one of his favorite flannels. The fabric was soft, gentle on the scar that ran along his back and neck. Besides, it boasted the bonus of being one of his preferred shades of yellow, complementing the color of his eyes perfectly. Rolling up the sleeves to combat the late summer heat, he pulled on a dark pair of blue jeans, securing them with a quick loop of his belt. Finally, he reached for his dark leather boots.
The boots had caught his eye in the store, the little feathers etched into the rich leather drawing him in almost instantly. What were the fucking chances of that? He stared at them for a while, aching with loss as he contemplated the purchase. If he bought them, would they only serve as a painful reminder of everything he had left behind in Japan? Swallowing hard, he walked past them, pushing further into the store to avoid opening that emotional can of worms. It was the last thing he wanted to think about because, every time he did, the desire to bury it all and escape back into drugs overwhelmed him.
Finishing his shopping quickly, he couldn't shake the flood of thoughts and anxiety that coursed through his body. His addiction fucking scared him. It felt like a constant battle raging inside him, triggered by even the smallest things. The yearning for that high, that rush, was strong, but he knew it was wrong. He was finally on the path to recovery, and the last thing he wanted was to fuck all that up.
Fuck, he was going to need a meeting.
He hurriedly drove home, tossing his shopping bags on the sofa before reaching for his laptop. Clicking on his sponsor's name, he prayed for a response despite the time difference; he seriously needed to talk. Perhaps it was finally time to take Tomi's suggestion and find someone in America to lean on.
"Keigo," Tomi's voice came through the speaker, instantly providing a sense of relief. "Is everything okay? It's late here; I almost missed your call."
"I'm so sorry, Tomi. I'll work on finding a sponsor here, but I really need to talk. I came across something today, and it sparked that urge..." He confessed, a tinge of shame coloring his words. He felt like he was disturbing people because he couldn't summon the strength to say no to something that harmed him. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
"First of all, you're not bothering me. I know that's already where you're heading. I'm here to talk about things; that's my job. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. We can work through it, and if you need to, I'm sure you could find a meeting local to you."
Taking a deep breath, he attempted to settle his nerves, appreciating Tomi's calming influence. As he recounted the events, a sigh escaped him, and a moment of silence on the line made him swallow nervously. Did she think he was foolish for letting a pair of boots get him worked up like this?
"Alright," she said with a soft sigh, "Instead of looking at feathers and thinking of the things you've lost, have you thought about it as something you've overcome?"
He emitted a soft 'huh' as he pondered her words. Overcome? It was a perspective on his situation he hadn't really considered before. The idea of viewing the boots as a symbol of his progress and healing instead of something he'd lost was honestly intriguing.
"I guess I never thought about it that way," he admitted, a sense of relief washing over him. "I've been so caught up in what I left behind that I forgot to acknowledge how far I've really come."
"Recovery is a journey, Keigo. You've made such tremendous progress since you moved to America. Instead of dwelling on the past, focus on the strength it took to get to where you are now. Those boots could be a symbol of your resilience and the battles you've won."
"Look," she continued as he relaxed against the sofa slightly, already feeling much better. "This isn't an easy road to be on, especially when the majority of your support is in another country with an almost twelve-hour time difference. Create a support system there, practice your English more, attend local meetings. I think finding a sponsor closer to you is a great idea, but I want you to know that you can always call me. I'll be here if you need it, okay?"
"Thank you, Tomi," he whispered, and she chuckled in response before wishing him a goodnight and hanging up. He sat on the sofa for a few more minutes before exhaling loudly. He was going to buy those boots because Tomi was right. He had overcome so much, and Fierce Wings would always be a part of him, even if his actual wings were gone. He should view them as a beautiful reminder of his journey and not a tragic relic of his past.
He smiled at the memory, slipping the boots onto his feet before heading towards his front door. He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the entrance and stepped outside, making his way to his truck. He climbed inside, buckling himself in and running his hand down the steering wheel. He let out a soft sight before he swiftly inserted the keys and started the engine.
Driving had been a formidable challenge he had to conquer once he settled into his new home. America was significantly larger than Japan, and everything was far more spread out. Unless he wanted to walk thirty minutes each way to go to the store, he had no choice but to learn to drive. He signed up for driving lessons, quickly realizing that if he wanted to succeed, he needed to seriously improve his English skills.
He studied nonstop for months, finding it harder than he thought possible. He cursed the Commission daily for never bothering to teach him another language. After months of hard work, he could read everything in English without much difficulty, understanding most of the words on a page. However, speaking and understanding spoken English were far more challenging. He needed to take his time, translating and listening for specific keywords to communicate effectively. He could hold a conversation for the most part, but it was far from perfect.
Nevertheless, he had passed his driving test, swiftly obtaining a license and purchasing a used truck. It was what most people seemed to drive here and he wanted to be able to blend in as much as possible. He had put his hero days behind him, and the last thing he wanted was to be recognized as the rogue former number two hero of Japan.
He sighed at the thought, gripping the steering wheel as he headed towards the market. Since leaving Japan, he hadn't contacted anyone back home—except for his sponsor and the virtual meetings he attended. He had snapped his SIM card at the airport, and when he finally got a new one, it came with an American number. He had kept his social media deactivated, ghosting his friends and Japan completely. That had been almost a year ago.
Maybe he should reach out, at least to Best Jeanist. He would probably appreciate knowing that he was alive, especially since he had been the one to push him to better himself, sending him to rehab and saving his life.
Resolving himself to at least getting back in contact with Jeanist, he pulled into the parking lot and swiftly parked his truck. The stand was fairly typical of others he had seen around here, though it was slightly larger. Large wooden posts connected the floor to the roof, and the stand was completely open to the outside air. Several rows of large tables took up the middle, filled with various fruits and vegetables, an array of colors and smells mixing together.
"Welcome in!" a cheery voice called out as he walked under the shade of the roof. He quickly located the source, a young girl with dark brown hair hanging loose around her face. Bright brown eyes looked him over as he nodded at her awkwardly. She gave him a gentle smile before turning back around and continuing to sort through the corn cobs she had been organizing. He glanced around, noticing another woman bent over the front desk, her face obscured from view as she messed with some type of paperwork.
He ventured further into the stand, stopping at a table close to the front where the tomatoes were located. He allowed his eyes to drink in the rich crimson color, reaching out to pick through them. He hadn't even been standing there for a full minute when something suddenly knocked into his leg, right at the knee. He stumbled, falling over with a loud thud, despite his best efforts to catch himself. What the actual fuck had just happened?
His palms stung against the concrete floor, causing him to let out a small groan, struggling to keep his annoyance in check. "Shit!" a soft voice said, and he could hear whoever had knocked him over scrambling up. He looked up, surprised to see a hand extended towards him, and he took it without hesitation, allowing them to help him back to his feet. It wasn't that he couldn't get up himself, but for some stupid reason, he always overcompensated since losing his wings. His balance was permanently off, and he didn't want to look more stupid than he already felt.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—" She stopped suddenly as their gazes met, his heart pounding in his chest as recognition hit him.
It was the girl from last night, the one from the bar with the sad song that had haunted his dreams, making him toss and turn as he thought about her.
She seemed just as transfixed as him, her eyes scanning his face as she seemingly struggled to remember where she had seen him before. She was just as pretty up close as she had been on that stage, though he couldn't help but notice the way her eyes seemed so heavy. He knew that look well, the one that just screamed tragedy. Could she see that same feeling in his own eyes?
He watched her eyes travel his scar, surprised when she didn't flinch away in disgust as most women tended to. It was a mood killer for sure; he had found that out the hard way back in Japan when most of his hookups would leave before they'd even gotten started.
He'd held out hope that it was because he was so high he was hardly functioning, that it would be different in America, but each attempt here had yielded the same result. Eventually, he just gave up on it altogether. What was the point of wasting his time when women no longer found him attractive? His hand had slowly become his best friend these last few years, and he doubted that would change anytime soon.
A gust of wind blew through the stand at his back, as if it wanted him to step toward her, but he managed to keep himself grounded. A soft fluttering sound drew his attention to his leg, and he let out a small 'ah' as he finally noticed the piece of paper pressed against his leg. Was that what she had been chasing when she knocked him over?
He quickly reached down, grabbing it before straightening himself back up. He watched the breeze catch her hair, swallowing hard as he tried to think of what to say when finally a voice broke the tension swirling between them.
"Ya can't just go knocking down paying customers like that, Buttercup!" A deep, husky voice said, drawing Keigo's attention to a large man walking towards him. Chestnut hair fell into his eyes slightly, a large white smile as he approached them both. She blinked before turning to glare at him, and the other man just laughed at the look before wrapping an arm around her neck and drawing her against him. Keigo took a breath, trying to quell his disappointment, though the feeling confused him slightly.
Was this her boyfriend?
"I didn't do it on purpose, Anthony, and I fuckin' apologized," she muttered, pushing away from his grasp with an exasperated groan. Anthony gave her a soft smile before turning his attention to Keigo with that same large grin. He quickly extended a hand towards him, and Keigo promptly took it, not wanting to be rude as he tried to quickly translate everything that was being said. Damn, he really needed to practice more.
"Names Anthony Tucker," he said, introducing himself before nodding over to the girl beside him, who still had her arms crossed, avoiding his gaze completely now. "And the little thing that managed to knock ya over is Y/N L/N. I've seen ya around town before, but I don't think we've ever officially met."
It took him a second to fully comprehend, but he returned the smile, shaking Anthony's hand. "Keigo."
"Well, Keigo, it's obvious you're not really from here," Anthony said, turning to nudge Y/N slightly with a frown. "Where ya from? What's your story?"
"I, uh," he stumbled with the question before swallowing hard. The last thing he wanted was for people to connect him to Japan. He had left that life behind, and the last thing he wanted was to be asked a million and a half questions about the war and his past as a hero. He also didn't want to lie, and he grimaced slightly before letting out a deep sigh. Tomi told him he needed to make friends, to start a support system here, but could he do that based on a lie?
"I'm from Japan. My English isn't great. Needs practice," he finally muttered, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Anthony. He watched as Y/N turned sharply, her eyes wide as she gazed at him. Her sudden scrutiny made him uneasy, unsure of what he had said wrong to warrant that reaction.
"Ah, left after the war I'm assuming? Don't really blame you there. It was a fucking tragedy, the shit that happened over there. Those poor damn kids," Anthony said, trailing off as Y/N shifted next to him, lowering her head. Keigo didn't blame her, suddenly feeling horribly uncomfortable himself. The war was the last thing he wanted to talk about; otherwise, he was going to end up in a fucking meeting before the night was out.
Anthony glanced between them, suddenly looking awkward himself as his eyes widened in slight panic while he rubbed the back of his head. "Shit, sorry. I'm being fucking rude, ain't I? I'm sure that shit is personal. Hey, you know what? We're having a lil' bonfire tonight out by the river. Maybe you'd like to come? You're still fairly new in town, I mean it would be a great chance to introduce yourself to more people."
"Oh, uh, I don't know," he said after a few seconds, unable to hide his confusion. Between how fast Anthony was speaking and the accent, he was a little more lost than he cared to admit. What the hell was a bonfire?
"Ah, come on, it'll be fun. I'm trying to convince Y/N here she should start singing more. She has a hidden talent and never told anyone. I'm hoping that with enough alcohol tonight she'll perform for us, since she's refusing to play here."
Y/N let out a large breath full of annoyance, recrossing her arms and finally looking back up at him, sending his heart pounding again. She looked so sad, and he wanted nothing more than to understand why. What the hell had happened that left her so devastated? Tomi's words about needing a support system here and his own damn curiosity were going to get the best of him. He blinked, finally breaking their stare and turning back to Anthony with a large smile.
"Sure. I'll give you my number, and you text me the details. Okay?" he said slowly, making sure the words all sounded right. Anthony hollered, reaching forward and clapping his shoulder in obvious excitement.
"You're in for a treat, Keigo!" Anthony replied, and Keigo couldn't help but chuckle, despite his sudden burst of nerves. He could do this; he'd faced a war, for God's sake. Making friends shouldn't be that hard, and he really needed people to talk to. Because as much as he loved his chickens, they really weren't the greatest company when the nightmares threatened to take over.
Ungrateful little shits.