Young Writers Society

A/N: I've been writing more emotional stories and fanfictions lately, but I do not have any firsthand experience with depression, self-harm, etc. If there's anything that you feel is inaccurate, let me know. It is not my intention to undersell those emotions, so feel free to correct me on it! There's two parts to this story, and I'll post the second part tomorrow.

Arakan stumbled into his apartment, grasping for the light switch. After a moment of fumbling, his numb fingers glanced across the switch, and the lights came on.

Ow.

Hand covering his eyes, Arakan flicked the lights back off. He massaged his temples, eyes squeezed shut against the lingering dull ache, then groped his way into the kitchen. Thankfully, it wasn't far. He opened the cabinet above the sink, dragging down the bottle stored there. With an effort, he popped the lid off, and slid down to sit on the floor, his back against the small island. He took a long drink, and gave a relieved sigh. The bartender had cut him off much too soon. If he could think, then so could the memories. And those... he couldn't deal with those tonight.

Blissfully, he slipped into the familiar stupor as the alcohol flowed through his body.

Kaen crouched on the roof, hidden in the shadows of the night. He watched as his brother reeled his way into the dilapidated apartment building.

Well, he thought bitterly, they weren't wrong.

Kaen was honestly surprised that his brother had made it back in that condition.

Arakan's once long, braided hair was now cut short, hanging raggedly about his shoulders. He was dressed in a scuffed leather jacket, and rather distressed jeans. He had stumbled out of the garish bar, then had listed to the other side of the street before finally turning south towards his home.

Kaen settled into a sitting position, resting his metal hands on his knees, and contemplated his next move. He had been ordered to follow Arakan, monitor who he had contact with, and to make sure that no information was revealed.

The yakuza was very determined to keep their secrets exactly that, a secret. They had put him on this mission, they said, because it would help him get used to his new arms, and it would get him back in the mindset. Kaen wasn't so sure, but he went where he was pointed.

Kaen saw a brief flash of light from the second floor of the apartment building, where his brother's rooms were. Kaen considered swinging himself onto the small, decorative balcony outside Arakan's window, just to see what his brother was doing, but decided against it. He'd seen enough for one night.

Arakan's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. The bright sun glared through the window, judging his sleeping late hour. With a scornful wave at the light, he dragged himself off the floor, teetering a bit as he stood, and made his way to his bedroom. He'd feel better after a hot shower.

Half an hour later, he strode out the door into the bright midday. His hair was gathered into a tail at his neck, and he didn't feel too hungover.

Definitely not hungover enough to miss the fact that someone was following him. He could feel it, like a shadow in the back of his mind.

Arakan had noticed it last night, but had been too drunk to care. That wasn't good.

Don't get complacent, he mentally berated himself. Even after all these months, the yakuza could still come after him. It had been a miracle that he'd gotten away, but even so...

He spotted a dark shape in one of the alleyways behind him as he turned a corner. He gave no outward reaction to spotting the tail, but the moment he was out of sight he started sprinting, pushing past the market crowd.

Kaen cursed, sprinting after his target. He must have been spotted, and Arakan wouldn't let himself be found again if Kaen lost him. He sprinted across the street, then pulled himself up onto the roof with automech arms. He caught a glance of broad shoulders and a leather jacket as it ducked into a dim alleyway.

Kaen crept along the roof, before dropping silently to the ground. As he stood, he heard the click of a gun cocking.

"Turn around real slowly, and put your hands up," a painfully familiar voice said.

Mentally kicking himself, Kaen turned, holding his hands at shoulder level. The yakuza had been right; he was out of practice. Though, to be fair, Arakan had always been able to catch Kaen.

Kaen look at his brother, and could barely hold back a gasp. Those eyes... those were not the eyes of the steadfast, honorable brother he had known. These eyes were broken, tortured.

Kaen was suddenly exceedingly grateful for the mask that covered his face. He wasn't sure if could've hidden the shock.

With a steady hand, Arakan held the gun to the stranger’s head as he turned, revealing a smooth wooden mask, painted red and yellow, along with hands wrapped in strips of cloth raised at his shoulders.

"You're yakuza," Arakan said, sighing. "You were sent to kill me?"

The yakuza took a deep breath. "No. Just to monitor."

Arakan didn't look convinced.

"Really," the yakuza pleaded. "I'm not even armed with a weapon that could kill."

A quick, discerning glance confirmed that the only weapon the yakuza had was a small knife tucked into his belt.

"Well, then," Arakan said, lowering the gun, but not his guard, "you can run back to Master Kurayami and tell him that if I catch another of his minions stalking me, I will raze his hideout to the ground."

The yakuza didn't move for a moment. He seemed scared, but since Arakan couldn't see his face, he couldn't be sure.

He sighed. "You must be a real rookie if they sent you after me like this. What did they even tell you about me?"

The stranger lifted his chin. "That you were dangerous, and a traitor."

"They're right," Arakan gave a sardonic smile, "You're just disposable to them. I might've killed you."

The yakuza shrugged. "It's my job."

Arakan shook his head, then turned to leave. "Don't follow me. Now that I've met you, you'll never be able to sneak up on me again." With that, he strode out of the alleyway, and into the marketplace.

Kaen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That had been too close. Apparently, he'd done a good enough job acting and sounding like a rookie, otherwise he'd be dead. With a shaky hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. It was a burner that they had given him especially for the mission.

"Kaen here. I've been compromised."

An annoyed voice came through. "You're supposed to be better than this," it hissed. "Come back to the Home, the Boss will want to see you.

"Understood."

Kaen ended the call, then pulled himself back onto the roof and headed for the slums.

As he ran along the rooftops, Kaen considered his first up-close look at his brother in a year. It pained him to see Arakan so lost and broken, but the one thing that would alleviate that pain, Kaen couldn't give him.

When he got there, the guard outside waved him in. "He's waiting."

With a nod, Kaen stepped inside. It was dim, and he braced himself for when his eyes adjusted. He tried to avoid the House whenever possible, as most of the less savory side (relatively speaking) of the yakuza hung out here.

Kaen made his way through the dark shapes of bodies on the floor, some blackout drunk, others... he didn't want to think about that. He turned his attention instead to the paper screens and the back of the room. He approached them, then gave a light knock on the frame.

"Enter," a deep voice said.

Kaen opened the screen, and stepped in. Inside he saw five men, all attending to various screens and phones. One of them waved him over, the handed him a phone, which Kaen brought to his ear.

"Master," he said, eyes downcast.

"You have failed me on your first mission since you were wounded. I trained you better than that."

"Yes Master, but-"

"I am the one speaking here," Master Kurayami declared. "You were detected by your brother, and with each passing moment, Arakan gets further away. You are not worthy of the arms I gave you."

"Yes Master," Kaen said, subservience thick in his tone, though anger and frustration seethed within him.

"I will allow you one last try. Follow Arakan, and make sure that he does not betray us further. But if you are detected..." he trailed off ominously.

"I understand, Master."

After he had escaped into the marketplace, Arakan had wandered the city, making sure he wasn't still being followed. They knew where he lived, so he couldn't return to his apartment, lest they pick up his trail again. It was inconvenient, but he'd started from nothing before. Thankfully, he'd had his wallet on him this time, so he could withdraw money from his bank accounts. All he had to do was remain as anonymous as possible, and he would be fine.

He jumped at a crash behind him, whirling around, reaching for his gun. He searched for the source of the sound, his heart beating rapidly. His eyes landed on a man cursing over a spilled box of wares, and he tried to relax, but his heart rate wouldn't slow.

It wasn't those noises, he told himself. It’s alright.

His body disagreed. He had to fight the urge to run, hide. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm down. It took a moment, but he was finally calm enough to continue on.

He kept walking until the sun had started to set, then made his way to a nearby bar to get some dinner. He had no intentions of getting drunk, as he would need all his faculties to stay undetected tonight.

He sat down on a bar table, and ordered a small meal. He ate slowly; he didn't have anywhere else to go.

Someone slid into the seat next to him. He looked over to see a beautiful young woman smiling at him.

"Hey, handsome."

He gave a small smile in return, and went back to his meal.

The woman pouted. "That's no way to treat a girl who just called you good-looking."

"I'm not going to buy you a drink."

"Just for the conversation, love."

Arakan stared at her a moment. Not tonight of all nights. He needed to move on, keep hidden.

But she was looking at him, an outlet to forget his problems, and the memories that he'd been pushing back.

"Alright."

He waved for the bartender, and ordered two drinks.

Four rounds later, she was leaning heavily on him, one arm slung around his neck. "Isn't this nice?" She slurred.

Arakan nodded slowly, waving for another round. It was nice not having to worry, and the company wasn't bad either.

The bartender approached with two more drinks, and the woman straightened to reach for hers. As she did so, the shoulder of her dress slipped, and Arakan caught a glimpse of an awfully familiar tattoo: the clan symbol of the Fuchis, the head family of the yakuza.

Arakan tensed, ready to bolt, but he hesitated. She surely was part of a plot to assassinate his, getting him drunk enough to drag him off to some lonely place to die.

Maybe it was the alcohol fuzzing his brain, but Arakan suddenly decided he didn't care. What was he living for anyway? His brother was dead, and he was here, wallowing in his own mess.

So he simply smiled as she leaned back against him, and kept drinking.

A little while later- he wasn't sure how long- she suddenly stood up. "I've got to go, love. Places to be."

Arakan's slowed mind took a moment to process that. She was leaving without him? Maybe she wasn't with the yakuza after all.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled as she walked away. He rested his head on his arms on the counter, but a moment later got up and slowly made his way out the door. He suddenly noticed through the haze of alcohol that his gun was missing.

When did she take that? He wondered.

His head spun, making it hard to keep upright, but he made his way to where he always ended up, eventually. A small graveyard on the edges of the city.

Finally, he was staring down a small headstone, engraved with the name Kaen Himada.

He realized that there were tears running down his face, and he reached up to wipe them away, but stopped. He deserved this pain, these tears.

"Brother..." he whispered. "I'm sorry. I should be the one beneath that headstone. You should be here, living the life we hoped for."

He knelt down the rest his fingers on the stone, his hand shaking.

Somewhere in the distance a car backfired, but that wasn't the sound he heard.

His hand flew to his gun, drawing it and crouching besides a large headstone. Unbidden, memories started rushing back, gunshots mixed with screams echoing in his mind.

"Kaen!" Arakan yelled.

His brother looked at him, fear apparent in his eyes as he bled from the wound in his side. This hadn't gone the way it was supposed to. It should've been a quick, easy in-and-out.

But now ten men were dead, and Kaen had been shot.

"Arakan, watch out!" He brother screamed, clutching his side.

Arakan spun to see one of the remaining enemies near Kaen lighting a match, and then dropping it on the stores of explosives. Time seemed to slow as the match fell, Arakan rushing forward, hand outstretched uselessly towards Kaen.

A wall of fire exploded outward, engulfing Kaen as Arakan watched, the rushing to meet him as well.

Arakan lay on the ground, gun forgotten, shivering. He clutched at his head. He could feel the fire washing over him, burning him, turning him inside out.

Then a real gunshot cracked in the night.

After leaving the House, Kaen just sat on a roof for a while, thinking. They had told him that his brother thought he was dead, and had left the yakuza a few months ago, but that hadn't prepared Kaen for the haunted look in his brother's eyes, or the reckless drinking, as if he didn't care anymore.

Kaen unwrapped his hands, staring at them. They gleamed in the sunlight, but he couldn't feel the warmth on them.

"What do I do?" He wondered aloud. He owed a great loyalty to the yakuza, but he and Arakan had always imagined another life, a better one, somewhere else.

It had only ever been a fantasy.

But now...

Kaen stood. He had to find his brother.

Two hours later, he finally spotted a familiar figure strolling into a small bar. Kaen hesitated outside, considering whether this was a good place to reveal himself to Arakan.

But while he was deciding, he saw someone else enter the bar. It was Hina, the niece of Master Kurayami.

Kaen froze, hoping he wasn't spotted. What was she doing here? Kaen doubted she was just out for a night on the town.

There was no way that he could go inside, she would recognize him as quickly as he had her. So with a sigh, he settled on a bench, listening for any sign of trouble.

A while later, Hina walked out of the bar, alone. Kaen felt a flash of fear. Without thinking, he stood and jogged towards the bar, opening the door. He nearly walked into his brother, who was stumbling outside. With a swift twist, Kaen ducked around him, praying that he wasn't recognized. But Arakan seemed too drunk to notice. A wave of sadness washed over Kaen. Was his brother so far gone that he had lost all sense of caution?

As silently as possible, Kaen followed his brother, making sure to stay just out of sight.

He wasn't sure where Arakan was heading; maybe he was still in enough control to know that he had to keep moving?

It was only a little while later, however, that Arakan entered a small graveyard, and made his way to one of the headstones. The night mist gave the place a mystical feeling, and beads of water condensed on Kaen's arms.

Kaen watched as his brother stood over the grave. He realized his brother was crying, but he was too far away to hear what he was saying.

A loud noise sounded in the night, and Kaen saw his brother collapse to the ground.

Kaen looked around wildly, trying to figure out what had happened. It hadn't been a gunshot, though it had been loud enough.

Suddenly, his eyes alighted on a dark figure crouching at the fence surrounding the graveyard, the familiar shape of a rifle held in his arms. He was raising it to fire, and it was pointed...

Kaen didn't even think, he just moved.

The sudden crack in the night was followed by the hard ping of a bullet hitting metal. The sharp noises actually served to bring Arakan back to reality a bit, and he gazed up at the figure standing with their back to him, their arms held in an X in front of his face.

With a start, Arakan realized that it was the yakuza from earlier that day. But now something else seemed terribly familiar about the man...

"Are you okay?"

Arakan gasped. That voice. The voice he had yearned to hear for so long.

The voice of his brother.

"How?" He rasped. 'You're-"

"Not dead. You're welcome for saving your life. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an assassin to take care of."

He brother sprang away. A moment later there was a dull thud, and then a snap.

Arakan attempted to push himself up into a sitting position, but his vision blurred, and he wavered, feeling dizzy.

Suddenly, Kaen was back at his side, steadying him. "Easy there."

Arakan felt a chill. His brother's hands were on his shoulders, but they were cold, metallic.

"No," he whispered. "Your hands..."

Kaen sighed. He reached up and removed the mask from his face, revealing sad eyes.

"I may be alive, but definitely not unscathed."

Tears started tracing their way down Arakan's cheeks. He sobbed, grabbing his brother, and pulling him into his arms.

"Kaen..." he whispered. "I am so sorry. I should've been paying attention. I should have seen the last man. If I had, you wouldn't be like this."

"I've accepted what happened to me," Kaen said sadly. "And I don't blame you."

"You should."

"I don't." His brother replied firmly. "And you shouldn't either." He pulled gently put of the hug, placing his hand under Arakan's chin, and guiding him until he could look him in the eye. "I'm here now. We're together again."

Another sob tore loose from Arakan's mouth, and he pressed his hands to his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He felt steady arms wrap around him, and hold him close.