Kick It Up: Flying High
Jul. 4th, 2006 02:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to earlier Tuesday afternoon. Shiro goes to check up on Yoshi, and is not happy by what he sees. Unfortunately for him, it might be the last time he sees anything like it.
Shiro flashed his college ID card to the security guard at the residence hall. He hadn't heard from Yoshi in a few days and that worried him. He didn't think that this Ho person would kill a dissatisfied customer if they paid off their debt. But given what Shiro had seen, killing might not be necessary.
"Yoshi?" he called, knocking on the door to his dorm room. "Are you in?" No answer. He tried to handle, and raised an eyebrow as he opened it. Who leaves the door to their dorm open? That's just asking for trouble. "Yoshi!" he called again, stepping inside.
The single was in disarray. Clothes were strewn everywhere, dirty dishes piled in the sink, and it smelled like the toilet hadn’t been flushed in a week. “Yoshi, what the . . . Kuso.” The boy was lying face-down on the bedroom floor, still except for the light rise and fall of his midsection. At least he was breathing.
“Yoshida?” And awake, apparently. He rolled over onto his side, alternating between giggling and wheezing. “What’re you doing here?”
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Shiro demanded, grabbing Yoshi’s collar and hoisting him to his feet. The boy staggered. “Is this Kick?”
“What’s Kick?” Yoshi asked. His eyes were red unfocused, and his breath reeked of vomit. “Oh shit! No no no, man. I’m just sick, is all. Hepatitis will do that to you.” He paused, and then broke into a fit of giggles and lightly smacked Shiro’s arm. “I’m kidding. Fuck yeah, I’m Kicking. You wouldn’t believe the deal Ho made me! When I paid it all off, he gave me a whole mon . . .” His next words were cut off as Shiro slammed him against the wall.
“You did what?” he hissed. “How dare you! I . . .”
“Hey hey hey!” protested Yoshi, holding his hands up defensively. “Dude, calm down. Ain’t no thing. You don’t need to go all grr arrgh about it, man.” He sniffed. “Dude, you need a new shampoo. That Herbal Essences shit is bad for your scalp. Now see?” he giggled. “I wouldn’t’ve been able to see and smell that without Kick. You owe me.”
“~You’re pathetic~,” was Shiro’s reply. He let go of Yoshi and picked up an empty asthma inhaler from the floor. “And this?” The plastic began to melt in his hand. “You have seen those Rachel Leigh Cook commercials, right? This is what is happening to you!”
“NO!” Yoshi made a desperate dive for the inhaler, but Shiro simply held it out of reach, and Yoshi collapsed onto the floor. “Shiro, please! I need it!”
“Why? You told me that it is not addictive. You have no reason to use it, not if it makes you behave like this.” Shiro tossed it into the trash. “This is going to kill you, Yoshi. Look at this place! Everything is falling apart and you tell me not to worry?”
“You don’t understand! I’ll get killed if I just stop! Chung Sheng Ho isn’t a man you can just cross!”
“And you will die if you continue,” Shiro countered. “Yoshi, you need help. You cannot continue down this path. I cannot let you.”
“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Yoshi demanded, panting.
“I am your friend!”
“Friend? You’re ordering me around, telling me what’s supposedly best for me, like you’re the only one whose opinion matters . . . How dare you!” Shiro winced. That sounded an awful lot like Clarice. “Fuck you, Yoshida. Here!” Yoshi reached under his pillow and tossed another inhaler at him. “You think you can make all the decisions on your own? Just try. I bet . . . I bet . . .”
“Yoshi?” Shiro caught him before he fell, and was surprised by how light he was. A man of his height shouldn’t weigh less than Clarice. Or twitching, breathing heavily, or clutching the left side of his chest.
He gently laid Yoshi down on his bed and grabbed his cell phone. “911? I need an ambulance now! I think my friend is having a heart attack. 23 Lexington . . . yes, the dorms. Please, hurry. H-he is only nineteen.” No more death. No more losses. If he had to demand something, then that was it.
Shiro flashed his college ID card to the security guard at the residence hall. He hadn't heard from Yoshi in a few days and that worried him. He didn't think that this Ho person would kill a dissatisfied customer if they paid off their debt. But given what Shiro had seen, killing might not be necessary.
"Yoshi?" he called, knocking on the door to his dorm room. "Are you in?" No answer. He tried to handle, and raised an eyebrow as he opened it. Who leaves the door to their dorm open? That's just asking for trouble. "Yoshi!" he called again, stepping inside.
The single was in disarray. Clothes were strewn everywhere, dirty dishes piled in the sink, and it smelled like the toilet hadn’t been flushed in a week. “Yoshi, what the . . . Kuso.” The boy was lying face-down on the bedroom floor, still except for the light rise and fall of his midsection. At least he was breathing.
“Yoshida?” And awake, apparently. He rolled over onto his side, alternating between giggling and wheezing. “What’re you doing here?”
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Shiro demanded, grabbing Yoshi’s collar and hoisting him to his feet. The boy staggered. “Is this Kick?”
“What’s Kick?” Yoshi asked. His eyes were red unfocused, and his breath reeked of vomit. “Oh shit! No no no, man. I’m just sick, is all. Hepatitis will do that to you.” He paused, and then broke into a fit of giggles and lightly smacked Shiro’s arm. “I’m kidding. Fuck yeah, I’m Kicking. You wouldn’t believe the deal Ho made me! When I paid it all off, he gave me a whole mon . . .” His next words were cut off as Shiro slammed him against the wall.
“You did what?” he hissed. “How dare you! I . . .”
“Hey hey hey!” protested Yoshi, holding his hands up defensively. “Dude, calm down. Ain’t no thing. You don’t need to go all grr arrgh about it, man.” He sniffed. “Dude, you need a new shampoo. That Herbal Essences shit is bad for your scalp. Now see?” he giggled. “I wouldn’t’ve been able to see and smell that without Kick. You owe me.”
“~You’re pathetic~,” was Shiro’s reply. He let go of Yoshi and picked up an empty asthma inhaler from the floor. “And this?” The plastic began to melt in his hand. “You have seen those Rachel Leigh Cook commercials, right? This is what is happening to you!”
“NO!” Yoshi made a desperate dive for the inhaler, but Shiro simply held it out of reach, and Yoshi collapsed onto the floor. “Shiro, please! I need it!”
“Why? You told me that it is not addictive. You have no reason to use it, not if it makes you behave like this.” Shiro tossed it into the trash. “This is going to kill you, Yoshi. Look at this place! Everything is falling apart and you tell me not to worry?”
“You don’t understand! I’ll get killed if I just stop! Chung Sheng Ho isn’t a man you can just cross!”
“And you will die if you continue,” Shiro countered. “Yoshi, you need help. You cannot continue down this path. I cannot let you.”
“And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” Yoshi demanded, panting.
“I am your friend!”
“Friend? You’re ordering me around, telling me what’s supposedly best for me, like you’re the only one whose opinion matters . . . How dare you!” Shiro winced. That sounded an awful lot like Clarice. “Fuck you, Yoshida. Here!” Yoshi reached under his pillow and tossed another inhaler at him. “You think you can make all the decisions on your own? Just try. I bet . . . I bet . . .”
“Yoshi?” Shiro caught him before he fell, and was surprised by how light he was. A man of his height shouldn’t weigh less than Clarice. Or twitching, breathing heavily, or clutching the left side of his chest.
He gently laid Yoshi down on his bed and grabbed his cell phone. “911? I need an ambulance now! I think my friend is having a heart attack. 23 Lexington . . . yes, the dorms. Please, hurry. H-he is only nineteen.” No more death. No more losses. If he had to demand something, then that was it.
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