Everything in this world is dirty.

Door knobs…

Telephones…

Reports…

Public transportation…

The air breathed by other people…

I moved out at sixteen, despite my father's insistence, to minimize the discomfort. There are unpleasant things everywhere, but I never thought there was a point in changing myself.

However…

It's hard to breath.

It's hard to breath, but that doesn't mean I'll die from suffocation.

If I don't want to touch something, I don't have to.

In order to keep living, I can't be stopped by anything.

I don't want to be stopped. Others don't expect me to be stopped.

.

"Akashi-kun" He stopped his typing and looked up to his secretary who entered his office. "Here are this quarter's financial reports." He received the reports being passed to him with his white gloved hand. His eyes narrowed at his secretary's hands. "You have a meeting at 11 with Fueguchi-san and then a board meeting with the other branch managers at 3."

"Momoi." The secretary blinked as she took notice where he was looking. "You don't have to wear gloves."

"But it makes you more comfortable, Akashi-kun." A small smile graced her lips as she stared at Akashi. Her eyes... Momoi didn't look at him with pitying or judgemental eyes, only understanding. He really was lucky to come across someone like her for the position.

"Thank you, Momoi."

Momoi wearing gloves didn't help in the grand scheme of things. Akashi could still see the trails of dirt where the person or people before her would have touched. His chest tight and constricting as he envisioned visible fingerprints and dirt all over the stapled pages.

Still, while it wasn't significant, his anxiety was slightly less knowing the person who gave him the report hadn't been in direct contact. His thoughts wondering off in wonderment whether Momoi had been wearing gloves when she first came in contact with it or only just now to deliver it.

Momoi didn't leave after handing him the report causing Akashi to look back up at the girl regarding him with a scrunched up face.

"Was there something else?"

"It's not relating to the business." Akashi's silence was his permission for her to continue. "Have you ever thought about seeing a doctor? Or a psychiatrist? A psychologist? Anyone to talk to really," she trailed off.

"I don't need any of those things. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I know a good listener."

"I said I'm fine." Akashi's eyes sharpened which straightened Momoi's back.

Momoi bit her lip before recollecting herself. "Right. I should get back to work."

Akashi returned to typing on his laptop, but couldn't forget Momoi's words. It was the first time anyone had even suggested he needed help. If anything, he was usually the person people came to if they had problems since he could get things done. Nothing expected less of an Akashi. His father made sure of that.

His family was a strict one. Ever since he was young, he was piled with enough work that would make grown men complain. His mother had been a glorious light as an escape to all that and even managed to make father lighten the load a bit.

Then she died.

More lessons returned and more. They were even harsher after mother's death.

But as far as his "problem" went, it was never a problem. He didn't consider it a problem, so he didn't need help. Not that he would tell his father about it as the man would probably see it as a fault as an Akashi. The man thought every slight thing out of place a fault.

He remembered giving specific orders to the housekeepers by the time he was twelve. He had to make sure they were doing things in a certain way to guarantee cleanliness.

He hadn't even turned 14 when his strict orders were no longer reassurance. His father was often busy so it wasn't hard to transition from giving the housekeepers strict orders to making them remain silent as he took upon their jobs (as concerned to him). His room became forbidden area where only he was allowed and even cooked his own meals, not trusting what was being done to the food. He somehow managed to keep up with his studies so his father never suspected anything. It was exhausting on his part, though.

At sixteen, Akashi defied his father for the first time.
Akashi wanted to move out. He needed a space all to himself. There were too many people in the current house. His father had been livid. However, Akashi promised he would keep up with his studies and wouldn't disappoint the family. His father couldn't trust him on words alone, however, after some more chatting he had finally agreed to let his son live alone as an experience to become independent.

It was just an apartment, something Akashi requested since a house would be too much to maintain by himself, but it was his. His space. A place where no one else could enter. A place others couldn't contaminate.

Akashi glanced down at his gloves. They didn't stick out since he always dressed formally.

The gloves…were the only thing that helped him get through everyday outside.

.

Akashi rubbed his hands with alcohol. He'd been washing them for the past 10 minutes. His hands were dry and cut. There were even some pink splotches from where his skin was healing from where it had been previously peeled.

It didn't matter how much he tried to clean his hands; they were still dirty. Dirtydirtydirty!

He sat at his table where his shogi board was already out when he thought he was finally clean. He played with himself for the next hour to further attempt to calm himself down. It was also an enjoyable past time.

Akashi, 24, and he spent his free time alone.

Chapter one and two were originally intended to be combined but I thought I should separate them as this alone gives a basic idea of Akashi.