Kapitel 1: Arc 1, Chapter 1: It Always Starts with A Truck

'Where am I…?' A bright light entered his irises. 'Why do I smell so many flowers…?' His nose cleared up at the pungent scent... 'What is-' sides of his body hugged by white… A comfy bed?

"Augh!" both of his hands grasped his throat. His elbows bumped off of something in the middle. Hair brushed down his ears, his toes wriggled.

Through the last of his breaths, his vision focused on a pane above. Set in white pillows and squinting, he could barely make out the reflection… of a woman with yellow hair and white flowers arranged within.

But those brown eyes—his eyes—reflecting back as he- she sputtered and coughed. She threw her hands against the glass and with what strength she had left, "Help! Get me out!" refined in tone and like a songbird, even while screaming…

The image became cloudier and cloudier, her eyelashes interlocking…

"She's alive!" a man dressed in all black uttered, replacing the reflection above. Air rushed across her locks and past her ears as she felt fingers going under her back.

Sometime Earlier…_

The two hands ticked, ticked till it hit sharp twelve on his watch. He moved under the flickering streetlight. A six-pack ring of beer in his hand, watching the street.

Not a car in sight. Jotou checked his surroundings, beginning to tap his foot against the pavement. What was down those alleys were anyone's guess at this hour.

About six feet, black hair, long limbs and two hairs poking out from his chin. Uneven and bite marks on some, his nails hovered over the black of his jeans.

"Brrr. Brrr." The nails went into his pocket. He checked the caller with a heavy sigh, immediately pressing the red. Notifications of five or six missed calls, one labelled 'Dad' and the rest 'Mom'.

A yellow light caught onto his brown eyes—an oncoming car, dice hanging through the little windshield.

The tyres squeaked against the road as the back door flew open, "Get in loser," a green streak across her fluffy black hair, the girl grinned.

The entire car shook as Jotou bounced in. "Hey Jotou," the boy in the passenger seat brought his hand back. Jotou greeted back with a slap of their hands and a fist bump.

Quick hellos before the engine rattled their bones. The girl immediately checked the beers he held, "Oh come on! You got the wrong one!"

"Daiyu, they only had these ones," Jotou replied to her. She wore a black jacket over a white t-shirt and tattered jeans.

The guy in the passenger seat turned over, a brown-white checker shirt, "Hell yeah, Jotou got the good brand, he's on my side!" he sat back. His body was rotund and a soft beard circled his face.

"Sure Crispy, he definitely 'picked your side'," Daiyu and everyone else at this point rarely remembered his name was actually Ben; that gamertag stuck with him for life.

"I asked and everything, this was the only one I could get. They all taste the same anyway," Jotou took a can out.

"Yeah, sure you asked," Daiyu scoffed before falling onto the seat, puffing up slight dust.

"Kaleb got the fireworks and we got some time to kill before we get there," the silver watch on his wrist rested atop the steering wheel, other hand steering from below. Tannish skin and a comb on the dash in front of him.

"You still haven't told us where we're going Ramond," Kaleb stated, his arms crossed and slumped into the seat, sat across Daiyu from Jotou. Purple streaks at the ends of his spiky hair but otherwise, dressed quite normally.

"No time to be grumpy," Daiyu gave Kaleb a kiss on the cheek. Jotou turned away from them, tucking his arms in; the shadows of street lamps passed his pale skin.

"Trust me, it's an epic spot to watch them go boom with some beers," Ramond guaranteed. Crickets and stray cats ran off the roads from the car's roar.

"Hey, have I ever told you guys about the time I met Jotou's mom?" Daiyu sat up, hanging her arms on the front two seats.

"We don't need to-"

"I don't think you have," Crispy cut Jotou off.

"Okay, so, we were like five or six and we were riding our bikes. I fall off, scrape my knee; Jotou tells me to come to his house and I'm like, we live across the street, I can just go to my house.

And he insisted because his house was the shorter distance mathematically, we should go there. He just drags me to his doorstep; I didn't get a say in.

Some water, snacks, bunch of crap later, his mom asks me my name and I say, 'Xia Lan Daiyu' and she went, silent.

His dad's cool with me, but that woman never saw me again! Then Jotou tells me a week later that his mom thought I was Japanese, but instead I was Chinese and somehow it started this whole feud across the street!

Both my parents are Chinese and only his mom is Japanese, so his dad just refused to get involved in anything but every holiday we had, there was just sabotage on the other side till the police got involved!" a wide grin as she told the tale.

"And… that's why we don't live across the street anymore," Jotou added.

The car erupted in soft laughter, "Sounds like your mom's a bit racist there Jotou," Crispy leaned to the window.

"Yeah, you think so? Go tell it to her, I dare you," Jotou challenged, not a smile on his face.

Ramond checked the rear-view mirror, "Is everything okay Jotou? You seem a bit down."

"Ugh," Jotou sighed, "You know, college tomorrow and everything…"

"You're still worried about that? I told you; you and Dai are gonna fit in just fine," Kaleb looked across.

"It's not that. I already told my parents I want to be a freelancer, drawing art online. I got three more commissions to finish and college is gonna ruin that path for me.

It takes creativity to do that; and the education system sucks that stuff out like a leech. I keep telling them, even after four or five years at college, I'm gonna be back where I was—jobless and on my laptop.

I might as well start now and I'll be a well-known artist. I can't be a zombie studying for exams anymore. But do they listen? They think a degree solves all the issues of life!

I'm twenty-one living with my parents and can't afford to move out until I do more commissions. I'm going to be stuck under their rule for years to come and I can't do anything about it. Today's the last day of my freedom…"

Jotou sighed, fogging up the window, "I don't know what's gonna happen after tomorrow. I'm thinking of running away to be honest." Jotou looked up; another night the stars were hidden.

No other sound but the tires against the road and the engine—some loose junk clunking around in the back. How many times have they heard this speech? It had been revised for years now…

"If you're running away, you can come crash at my dorm," Daiyu offered.

"Or you can finish our business idea. I have the programming all set up, I'm making the story and you can do the visuals like we planned months ago.

You can crash in my garage till we make enough to move out to a proper place. We become indie game developers and the world knows our name; sound like a plan?" Crispy suggested.

Slowly, the corners of Jotou's lips gave in, moving up. "I'll keep that in mind if I need to go anywhere," his arms relaxed.

He faced the window, fogging it up again with a light chuckle. May was coming to an end… Another month, another rant. That silence across their faces.

'Come on Jotou. You'll figure something out. You always do. Now, let's not ruin their moods.' He turned back to them, trying to let go of the thought of studies.

"I understand where you're coming from, but you could just 'study' and fail while you actually focus on your art," of course Kaleb had to bring it up again…

"That just sounds like a ticking time bomb before my parents literally kill me," Jotou rejected. "It's fine, I know I'll figure something out."

"You always do smart-ass," Daiyu gave him a light punch to the shoulder.

"Everyone relax," Ramond stretched an arm, "I've already been searching for a mansion and we'll all move in together. Once I collect the lottery I won, our lives change forever!"

Ramond turned to face Jotou, "That's why we're celebrating tonight, don't forget," as he said a bright white light- "CRASH!!!"

…And Jotou had recalled the night… Sitting on the chairs arranged for a funeral, staring at unbitten nails.