Disclaimer: Yamagata, Kai, Kaneda, Tetsuo, Kaori, the bartender, and any other characters/concepts from Akira I may unknowingly have mentioned are © Katsuhiro Otomo. I own none of them. NONE OF THEM. Well, except for Naomi. She's my character.

Warnings: shounen-ai (Yamakai); mild drug and alcohol reference, and likely a few words that need to be proceeded with "pardon my French." Otherwise, it's pretty safe.

Here goes my first attempt at a full-length Akira fanfic. Good lord. What have I gotten myself into?

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The air smelled of drunkards; Yamagata smelled worse. The stench of alcohol was thick and rotten in the heavy July night.

And, thought Kaisuke, stopping to catch his breath, Yamagata had outdone the night in the heaviness department, too.

"God dammit, Yama," he hissed into his friend's ear. "You're heavier than my fucking bike."

Yamagata groaned back in a blissful, irrelevantly philosophical way. That was how drunks were; either they believed they had managed to top Freud with just a few shots, or they or they shouted and swore and made the air reek of blood by opening people up.

Having Yamagata as a nearly unconscious Freud poseur, Kai thought, was definitely better than smelling his own personal iron collection. But he'd been beaten up badly before, and it was, in some respects, definitely better than this impromptu bench-press of good Samaritanism.

Kai sighed, and, his motorcycle now only about a dozen feet away, once again began dragging Yamagata unceremoniously towards it.

A couple of weeks ago, it could have been Kaneda hauling Yamagata to his bike, inhaling the rotten stink of vodka and listening to his capsules-and-shots induced ramblings. One night, he had ordered Coke, all the while explaining that he would never again get on the wagon. Drinking had been a fatal mistake, he'd said seriously, but now he had his own health and the health of others in mind. "From here on out, you won't catch me dead touchin' the stuff." But Kaneda's leaf of sobriety had flipped back over almost as soon has he had turned it on its face, because, two days later Miss Akimoto, the notoriously straightedge student teacher, had been transferred to a different school, and Kaneda had gone back to his old ways with a newfound enthusiasm.

"It was worth it," he had said. "Her jugs were fuckin' huge." A swig from a pint mug designed for men older than he, and then, with a cocky smirk: "'Sides, I didn't ever passed a math test before."

So, it was just Kai again. The capsules were all right to get hyped up on, but tonight, like most nights, his wallet had been rife with moths, and he hated alcohol. It was strange; everyone else seemed to love it, and it wasn't like he had anything against getting intoxicated. Something about the taste just turned him off. It made his face twitch and his throat burn and his eyes sting when he took a gulp, and these effects did little as far as inciting him to take another draught. True, he didn't have to endure the flavour so much once he was drunk, but to Kai, the journey was not worth the destination.

The destination itself didn't seem too spectacular, either. With capsules, you took a couple, and the lights got brighter, the world got faster, and you suddenly seemed to weigh significantly less. But while decisions seemed a lot funnier to make than they did while sober, at least you could still make them rationally. From what Kai had seen of the heavily pissed, rationality was thrown to the wind and that usually meant that people were hurt and things were divulged that should have been kept in the dark. And that idea scared him.

Mostly, though, it was the taste. He really didn't like the taste.

Yamagata's taste buds were not so refined. That night, he'd practically inhaled the stuff. Pint after pint, glass after glass, and then, when he'd broken three shot glasses, the bartender had mockingly restricted him to a light blue, plastic cup; the kind a young child would use. He'd somehow managed, through great, inebriated effort, to shatter that, too.

So he'd been kicked out. Kai, through a sense of obligation, had followed – and now his biceps and his nose were now dealing him a thankless scolding for it.

He pulled the fried fellow up beside his motorcycle and, sighing with relief, let what little of Yamagata he'd held off the ground fall to the sidewalk with a quiet, decisive thud.

Yamagata began to loudly, and completely incoherently, protest to this, but stopped midway as a revolutionary concept hit him.

"Yaknow, I was jus' thinkin' 'bout cement th'other day..."

The thick, steaming air muffled all sound save Yamagata's pseudo-philosophy about the merits of replacing cement with rocks and glue – "No, squeamishly, Kai; think about how easy it'd be! People could just... glue really flat rocks together. An' when I made some dough off it, I would get laid, like, every night!" – and the loud, equally nonsensical conversations emitting from the Harukiya bar. There was a violent crash of glass hitting the floor, and the shouting escalated. Drunk shouts tried to push the night aside, but it was like trying to move pudding with chopsticks – the deceptively peaceful silence of heat remained dense and unaffected in the street.

"Unless you realize how much you totally reek," said Kai, straddling his bike, "I think you mean 'seriously,' not 'squeamishly.'"

"'Zealously,'" agreed Yamagata with self-assurance.

Kai snorted. "Dumbass. Get up and get on." He loosened his tie and wiped at the light film of perspiration that had accumulated on his forehead. Manual labour and late July did not mix well.

"Not a dumbass," Yamagata mumbled in an irate tone, struggling to regain equilibrium. He managed to do so, after a fashion, stumbling around with two left feet and fixing Kai with a smug "I sure showed you" look before, with the grace a bird donning a few too many wings, he reeled across the few steps between him and Kai's bike.

"You shouldn't've gotten so smashed," commented Kai. Behind him, Yamagata was cursing the rocket science that mounting a bike had unexpectedly and rather cruelly turned into. "You know you don't do morning afters good. Well."

"Ya didn' hafta stay all sober," retorted Yamagata. "Coulda gotten hyped up on capsules an' then we'da both bin sleepin' on the street t'night." He let his forehead fall heavily onto Kai's shoulder. "Didn' count on you bein' my defecated driver."

Kai let out a very loud, very suspicious-sounding cough. "That'd be 'designated,'" he corrected. "Designated driver."

The volume of the chaotic Harukiya scene escalated, the bargoers' last-ditch attempt to hammer away the oppressive, humid night. Yamagata glared towards the bar.

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled. His head fell back onto Kai's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. "Get me the hell outta here."

"Sure thing."

Fighting off the oppressive heat of the night?

Kai grinned.

His bike showed the Harukiyans how it was done.

The wind whipped his hair around his face, the roar of the engine filled his mind, the streetlights and illuminated windows melded with the neon signs to make strips of light so incredibly radical that he might as well have been high.

Damn – Kai loved biking.

And somehow, at that moment, the experience was made more wonderful. The back of his mind, and the pit of his stomach, thronged with butterflies, knew why – but he wouldn't admit it to himself. He didn't want to consciously put himself into that kind of jeopardy.

From behind him, Yamagata's angry and rather shaky voice demanded, "D'ya gotta drive so goddamn fast, Kai?"

"Wuss. I'm barely pushing seventy."

Yamagata's anguished moan was lost in the loudness of the engine.

They traveled in silence for a while. The motorcycle was guided through the labyrinth of Neo-Tokyo, its route affected little by common traffic laws – rather, enhanced by their disruption. Loud honks of indignance chased Kai and Yamagata as they threaded in a manner that would offend any self-respecting crow.

"'Least I got away 'a Naomi," said Yamagata eventually.

This was news to Kai. Keeping his eyes on the road, he called back, "Why? She's pretty hot."

"Screw that."

Kai raised an eyebrow, but expected no elaboration.

He got it anyway.

"She pisses me off, but she's a good lay, right. That's what we're all in it for, right, except Tetsuo an' Kaori. They're all over each other, they've been together for at least two months. Tha's jus' weird."

A short silence, and then,

"Makes me really freakin' jealous."

Kai still made no reply. He felt somewhat awkward; Yamagata had never mentioned dissatisfation as far as the ladies went, and he had no reason to – the way he smugly relayed his "last night" stories almost bidaily had assured Kai, and the rest of the Capsules, of that. The guy seemed to have the sex life that others could only dream about. It came in second only to Kaneda, who was an equal opportunist in that he believed no woman should be left untouched – and was actively involved in making sure this was carried out. No, the guy definitely had no reason to complain.

And so, Kai was confused. It was common knowledge that people tended to say things when drunk that they wouldn't be caught dead talking about sober, and he had a gnawing feeling that this was one such.

"Are you jealous of him?" Yamagata probed. "D'ya think 'at havin' a relationship'd be better'n jus' some girl?"

"I dunno," Kai replied, stiffly. "I've never had a girlfriend."

"Oh. Yeah." Yamagata nodded into Kai's back. He explained, factually, "It's 'cuz yer so short."

Kai bristled. There's another thing about drunks, he thought bitterly. No tact whatsoever.

Aloud, he said in a monotone, "Yeah, probably."

"Tha's gotta be it," Yamagata continued. "I mean you're smart, right. All those words. Halfa' the time I dunno what you're talkin' about. I bet you, like, read the dictionary. Alla time."

"Yes, Yamagata. I read it every night before I go to bed."

"Weird!"

Tactless, and also totally witless.

"And it's not like you're ugly or nothin'. Al'ays lookin' so slick. And yer pretty, uh, pretty.

"Hell," he persued absurdly. "I'd do you."

The blush Kai had managed to tame earlier came back in full throttle. Yes, this was definitely one of those moments. Yamagata had no idea what he was talking about. He was making a mistake. It was just – he was just drunk. People said things when they were drunk, things they wouldn't say when sober.

So he's got the excuse of being drunk, he thought to himself. What excuse do I have?

The evil blush deepened.

Shut up, he ordered his brain.

He could almost hear it laughing up at him from the gutter.

He began to feel rather light-headed, and wondered whether he was, at that second, quite fit to be the one driving. Did Yamagata –

"But since I ain't a chick, I won'. That stuff's just wrong."

And he was fit to be a driver again.

"Too bad, huh?"

Nevermind.

His mind was going places he definitely didn't want it to go.

"What the hell are you talking about, Yamagata?"

"Well, I bet there're a lot of guys out there who wanna do each other. It's gotta suck 'at they can't –"

"Oh, god. Shut your face." Kai tried to focus on driving, but focussing on that which came to him as second nature wasn't a good distraction. Again, his mind trundled off in that disturbing direction.

I've never had a girlfriend. Is it because I'm short?

Or because I don't want one?

"Shut your face," he repeated, severely, and aloud.

"What? The fuck did I do?" Yamagata sounded offended.

"Nothing," Kai snapped. "We're here."

They had reached the youth condo where Yamagata lived. Kai braked, guiding his bike to pull up behind a tiny, beat-up Toyota that looked as though it hadn't been driven in decades. Upon closer inspection, Kai guessed that it also might once have been white – but that was a gamble. It had probably been joyridden and then left to the forces of Neo-Tokyo. Cars in these parts, alarmed or not, never remained in the same hands for long. The Toyota's last stand had obviously not been by its original owners, since it was beside the condo.

Like most youth condos, the building was charity-run, and so by definition it blew. Its inhabitants were hardly housekeepers, and it seemed like it hadn't been in prime condition when it had first been designated a home for youth, either. Its supervisor came around every once every now and then only to check up on the boys and beat around the ones who weren't up to par, or to take a few in to the police. The ones he chose to take to the station seemed to be picked at random. Kai had never actually seen this happen, but he could be fairly certainly it did; the same thing happened at the one he lived in, and Kaneda complained frequently about always being the one who was dragged off to the police.

By now, Yamagata had untwined his arms from Kai's waist and dismounted the bike. At first he had appeared confused by his surroundings, but, in a show of resourcefulness, had shortly recognized that he was in front of his by now several years familiar residence. Having accomplished this feat, Yamagata had spent the past few seconds deciding how far he was from the door and, through trial and error, trying to figure out how to get to it.

Yamagata lived on the third floor.

Kai doubted he'd be able to make it up that far.

"Need help?" he asked, leaning forward on the handles of his bike and cocking his head to enjoy the interesting spectacle before him.

"Fuck that," announced Yamagata. He threw his arm up, index finger pointed towards the heavens. "I know where my door is!"

"That's a step in the right direction." Kai smiled into his gloved hands. "Figuratively, of course."

Yamagata walked optimistically into a bit of wall about three feet to the right of the doorway.

Kai hopped off his bike. "You need help."

"No way," argued Yamagata, for the sake of appearances, letting his arm be slung around Kai's shoulders and leaning heavily into them.

Inside with few problems, the two began to make their way up the stairs. Although the theoretical colour of the Toyota outside had been decipherable, no such bet could be made safely about the staircase or, for that matter, the rest of the building. As though the building itself were not even sure of its original colour, it had defaulted to a sort of splotchy beige, decorated by cigarette burns, vomit, piss, and other generous spillings and blemishes. From the looks of things, Yamagata would likely soon be making his own contribution.

Having Yamagata, head and shoulders taller than Kai, using him as a support for the majority of his body weight, should have been trial enough to keep Kai's mind off of what his minorly gargantuan friend had said earlier, but his subconscious could care less about the physical testing of its host.

"About what you said," began Kai, unable to leave the issue unconfronted.

He was cut off by Yamagata leaning away from him to donate the contents of his stomach to the collage of bodily fluids adorning the stairway.

Kai winced, and waited for Yamagata to wipe a few strings of phlegm from his mouth. He tried again,

"About what you said."

"What I said," echoed Yamagata, obviously clueless as to what Kai was referring to.

"What you said about, about how you'd..."

"Oh. That." Yamagata nodded, then shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno. Guess chicks jus' don' like ya."

This was not what Kai had been hoping to hear. "Well, I mean, uh. Would you really, uh. If I were. If you." He could feel his cheeks heating up again, cursed himself for it. "You'd, er – do me?"

"Ha ha ha! Ha – uhh." A sick expression appeared fleetingly on the biker's visage, but was controlled and done away with. "Yeah. Sure."

Moths in his wallet, butterflies in his stomach. Neither were good, but Kai found himself enjoying the latter, although its source was arguably the more precarious of the two – no thanks to the fact that Kai had felt the urge to bring it up again. Yamagata might think he meant it seriously.

Well, maybe he did. Still, there was no reason for Yamagata to know that.

Although, Kai reminded himself, this was Yamagata drunk. His memory was appalling enough without the effects of alcohol stunting it even further.

This was Yamagata, drunk, telling Kai he'd do him.

It was, all in all, a bit much.

They now stood in front of Yamagata's doorway. Yamagata fumbled for his keys and handed them to Kai, who unlocked the door and pushed it open. The distinct Yamagata smell of oil, sweat and, for some reason, fried rice wafted out of the room, making Kai feel comfortable, warm, and incredibly silly.

"What we said." Kai handed Yamagata's keys back to him. "You're not gonna remember it in the morning, are you?"

Yamagata appeared to consider this. "Nope," he replied, finally. "Never do."

This was true enough. Instead of relieving Kai, this left him feeling strangely, irrationaly, dangerously unsatisfied. A small, perhaps masochistic part of him wanted Yamagata to remember the next day, wanted him to bring it up again – but it would be too risky to mention, even if he did recall, and for some reason wanted to talk to Kai about it.

His mind flew back to his younger days, when he and his pre-Capsule friends made simple, glorious forts out of cardboard boxes and pillows from the playroom couch, allowing entry exclusively to those who knew the password. A revelation of his own came to him.

"Listen, Yamagata," he said quickly.

Yamagata had stumbled into his room already, and was about to close the door behind him. He stopped and turned his head over his shoulder to look at Kai.

"Yeah?"

"Listen," said Kai again. "If you remember what you said to me tomorrow, say something."

Yamagata blinked. "Like what?"

It was a pointless endeavor, Kai knew; Yamagata, while drunk, had once gotten into a violent, bloody fistfight with a Clown who'd wandered onto Capsule turf. A clash between the two gangs was nothing to be surprised about, but this particular encounter had been unusual. Clowns were usually too smart to wander onto Capsule territory alone, and that this guy and Yamagata had battled it out one-on-one was also a rarity. The morning after the fight, Yamagata had demanded to know why there was dried blood all over his face and how the hell he had lost yet another tooth. He had no memory of duelling with a Clown. If he didn't remember that, what were the odds of him remembering some casual, jesting hypothesis?

And yet.

"Say 'I wish you'd gotten drunk that night.'"

"Sure. Oh, and Kai."

"Yeah?"

Yamagata grinned at him. "Thanks." His smile was lazy, drugged, uncaring, and charming enough to make Kai reach out and lean on the banister for support. He felt like a total ditz, a lovestruck girl, and he didn't care.

He replied, "No problem."

And the door was shut in his face.

It was humid in the hallway. Outside, the heat had not been comfortable. Inside, it was i un /i comfortable. The heat would get worsen in August, of course, but that didn't make July's own attempts at turning Neo-Tokyo into a furnace any more enjoyable. Sort of like Yamagata's love life being extremely active, if dwarfed slightly when juxtapositioned with Kaneda's.

And I would be the dead of winter, thought Kai. Having some drunk guy tell me he'd do me if he were a chick's the closest I've ever come to actually have someone flirt with me, except for when that weird guy at the Harukiya kept buying me drinks. I'm such a dude magnet.

At the recollection of the generous homosexual man, another Harukiya memory crept into his mind. He was talking to the bartender who, like most bartenders, had a great store of knowledge in the back of his head from years of seeing and talking to and hearing people.

You want the truth, son? You ask a drunk fellow. Any good man in here who respects my business would be able to help you. They will say ridiculous things, they will spill beans, they will highlight details that ought to have been in fine print, but they won't lie. When one is completely smashed, (he had explained, clashing slang with proper English,) one doesn't have the wits to lie.

In an absent gesture, Kai rubbed his jaw with his hand. Perhaps he was checking to make sure it was still there, and not somewhere on the floor.

Naomi sprang to his mind. She was a pretty girl, with close-cropped hair, a small, doll-like mouth, and an figure that Kai was sure her friends must have envied. She was also incredibly loose.

Well, Naomi, Kai mentally adressed her. I don't think I've ever heard Yamagata talk about wanting to screw you.

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back down the three flights of stairs to his motorcycle, which he re-mounted, and drove home.