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He hadn’t come to this town in a while; twelve years at least. Taiga Saejima was twenty-eight now. His life hadn't shaped up the way he thought it would. It wasn't bad, he guessed. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't bad.
Them’s the breaks sometimes.
Taiga and Yasuko were baptized three months after they got to America. His ma and his step-dad moved them to an Asian suburb outside of a major military installation.
His real dad had fucked off almost as soon as Yasuko was born. His ma threw her lot in with a soldier on leave in Osaka, and that was the end of that.
He was six when he got to America. His step-dad was a real devout Southern Baptist, and ma converted as soon as she landed — even Taiga played along for as many years as he could manage. At sixteen, he got kicked out. Or he left. The details were fuzzy after so long.
Nope, not thinking about that. He was not gonna dwell on sad shit, he was here for Yasuko and this was her special day. She'd graduated early from her degree program, a Bachelor of Science in Agricultural Technology. Won't that something?
The drive from his house took an hour. Even when Google Maps said it’d take thirty minutes, it always took an hour. He was running late, and God damn he shoulda remembered it always took this long, but he didn't come out this way much no more, not since Yasuko could drive. They preferred to meet in the town over, where Saejima lived, it made it easier on everyone.
Idling at the one red light in town, his phone buzzed.
You still on the way, Taiga? There was an unwritten second statement; you can duck out and I won't get mad.
Saejima slammed the butt of his palm against the steering wheel. It wasn't Yasuko he was mad at. He was mad at himself. He was mad his baby sister still felt like she had to make excuses for him.
Quick as he could, his fat fingers smashed out: omw sweetpea. not missin dis 4 nuthin
He'd edged his way about a foot past the white line by the time the light finally turned green, and he burnt fucking rubber blazing through the rest of the shitty podunk town until he could see the giant, ugly concrete and vinyl siding box that passed for a rec center.
Pulling in on two wheels, he parked crooked in the first spot he could find and flung himself out of the truck. No point locking it or rolling the window up, it'd cost more to replace the glass than it would to buy a new fuckin shitheap truck.
Saejima had tried real hard to look decent. Clean jeans, clean t-shirt, his boots were polished. But… not a lot was going to hide the tight weaving of designs and scars down his arms and creeping up his neck. His ears were studded with piercings, the lobes stretched, and even his face wasn’t immune from the glint of silver. You could see a few indented scars from previous holes he’d let close, but his septum was run through with a ring, along with a barbell in his left eyebrow.
A gray t-shirt and the lightest pair of (still black) jeans he owned couldn’t fix that.
He could hear chatter filtering outside, big double-doors propped open. The parking lot was full, not a soul milling outside, not one old man smoking a cigarette. It was a tiny comfort. Taiga took in a big gulp of air, his feet were glued to the sidewalk. He couldn't bring himself to walk around the corner, even after hauling ass to get here. He felt like he was sixteen again, his gut twisting up before walking in to anything church related, knowing that whatever he did to make himself comfy in his skin was, with accompanying citations of scripture, a sin or the mark of Satan oppressing his soul.
It wasn’t no surprise that Yasuko had graduated early. She had always been real smart. He’d texted five minutes ago, hadn’t sent an update, but she’d managed to sniff him out anyway. Yasuko rounded the corner with big, confident steps, her smart-casual kitten heels click-clacking on the sidewalk. She looked… she looked great. While Yasuko had never gotten tall like he had, she was still a good height. Her hair was long, brushed with a side part and laying in one neat black sheet down her back.
She looked every bit the scientist she was. It was fucking sweltering outside, dead in the middle of July heat, but Yasuko was modestly dressed. She was decked out in a cute, flowy, short-sleeved sundress that was a mix of blue and purple flower-shapes. Saejima coulda cried.
By the time Taiga had processed it all, his little sister had wrapped him up in a tight hug. He didn’t hesitate to return it, rocking her back and forth while his chest bubbled with laughter. He hadn’t seen her since April, maybe earlier. Through a complex series of charades and miming, him and his parents had managed to communicate that they would see Yasuko walk across the stage — and if he could stay scarce— he could come to the graduation party without their faces popping up.
“Come on, Taiga. There’s pizza inside, and I bet you didn’t eat yet.” She locked arms with him, and Taiga tried hard not to flush a deep red. Yasuko had never been bothered by her big, hulking, ogre of a brother. Even when his wardrobe got darker, and his face got surlier, and his reputation in the church community got worse. Yasuko didn’t care. She knew God and she knew Taiga’s heart, just like God knew Taiga’s heart. That was all the guide she needed.
Taiga nodded, grumbling about waking up early for the party. Yasuko was basically pulling him into the thick of the event, purposefully ignoring stares and whispers while she gave her brother the run through of who all was here, and what all she had done for the past five months. To his credit, Saejima played along real good. He kept pace in the conversation, didn’t make eye contact with no one else, even kept his curse words to himself.
“What time do you work tonight? Can you stay for the whole party? There’s food now but we were thinking about a bonfire, too.” Taiga smiled, even though he didn’t want to.
Yasuko had gotten real good at living two lives. The life were her brother was a dropout, goth, faggot fuck-up who worked in the one fetish club in the tri-county area; and the life where she was a smart (newly graduated) college student, with a good family and a loving, close-knit church community. She was good at making him feel involved without making him feel… ya know… like he had been kicked to the curb.
He meant to say that “On Saturdays, I’m just a floater,” But he’d paid to have his tongue split about seven weeks ago, and it was still giving him some trouble with “s” sounds.
She stopped, her smart eyes narrowing. She noticed. Of course she noticed. Leaning close, she looked up at her brother, like that alone would make his mouth pop back open. “Taiga?” She had a wicked little grin on her face, but no one else seemed to catch it.
Taiga took a step back, lips clamped shut tight. Yasuko didn’t want any body modifications of her own, but she’d always been interested in the process. Ya know, for science.
Yasuko followed, one long finger poking into his meaty chest, “Taiga you didn’t, did you?” She was scolding him, sure, but he couldn’t miss the way her eyes glittered.
His face cracked open in a toothy grin, sticking out his split tongue with the littlest wiggle he could manage. Yasuko clasped her hands over her mouth, trying not to squeal. She’d wanted to go with him! What a rip. Punching him square in the arm, the whole rec center echoed when she said, “You jerk!”
They both paused, realizing it was too quiet. The Saejima's looked around, their good-hearted sibling ribbing had been interpreted as Yasuko getting mad at him… presumably for his demon tongue. Or maybe for his general existence.
Saejima coulda choked on the thick wad of awkward in the air. Fuck.
It was like a fucking movie, man, swear to God. Saejima took in the room, which was taking in him, all except for a guy that couldn’ta been much older than he was. Tall, but not quite as tall as Taiga. Slim, but wiry-slim. The sorta slim that looked like it could scrabble up a brick wall. What was he? Not a preacher, wasn’t dressed nice enough. Dressed too nice to be a college kid, or part of the youth groups. ...He also wasn’t dressed stupid enough to be a youth pastor. That left him being a Deacon. Well, damn, that was an impressive thing to be before you hit forty. This guy was Asian, too. That wasn’t so surprising, but still nice to see. A lotta people out here were some sorta Asian or Asian-mix. Just parta living outside of this particular base.
His cheekbones were so sharp, his nose hooked and a little crooked. No facial hair — but a slight shadow. His hair was stupid, it shoulda been in style: it was almost your basic undercut, but there was something about the blunt edges that just barely tickled his ears that made it too severe. His soft, supple cheeks threw the angles of his face into the sorta hard contrast that made Saejima’s heart beat faster. Just like the dark rings around his hawkish black eyes. Fuck. The guy was distracted, barely aware of the scene around him, more focused on stacking left-over pizza crusts into a tower.
It was stupid, and childish, and this guy looked like a fucking weird, lanky, bruise-eyed goblin with baby cheeks, and honestly? Saejima would have paid good money to drag him in the back room and suck him off. (The fact that he was dressed as a Deacon only helped a little bit.)
Taiga must have zoned the fuck out, too busy eye fucking some stranger, because he had missed that the rest of the congregation had gone on about their lives and Yasuko was quietly trying to get his attention. The soft coughs and throat-clearing noises gave way to a harsh prod in his back, his younger sister hissing his name.
Saejima’s head snapped back, instinctively following Yasuko’s sightline until… until it became obvious why the rest of the church felt comfortable to go back to laughing and eating pizza.
Futoshi Shimano: God Warrior. The head Preacher here at the Flaming Sword Church of Deliverance. Yasuko had talked about this guy. He was new, had maybe been in charge for four years. He was tall, broad; with thick, angry eyebrows and a down-turned mouth. Pastor Shimano was your typical fire and brimstone Baptist, he spared the rod and spoiled the child, and believed firmly that only through strict subservience to the Lord could you find Salvation and Peace.
In other words, Pastor Shimano was everything Yasuko hated, and Saejima was everything Pastor hated.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! It was too late to back out now. If he turned around and walked out, it was obvious: he was avoiding a holy man. If he walked forward, offered his hand first, he was taunting a holy man. All he could do was stand beside his sister, pinned between her and the drink table, wishing he could drown himself in the sickly sweet tub of sherbet and lemon-lime soda behind him.
Taiga knew what was next. He’d been through enough church to have this part memorized.
Shimano burst through a small gaggle of church ladies, his smile pulled tight and fake as all hell, arms open wide — because he was a welcoming Christian — and he laughed a big, powerful laugh like a gatling gun.
His ears started ringing. Everything flushed hot and cold then hot again. Taiga felt tiny compared to this guy, but he could tell he was thicker than the Pastor. Yasuko introduced them, but Taiga couldn’t hear anything more than high-pitched whirring. Saejima knew this next part. It was always the same. Yasuko was polite, and did the introductions, the Pastor pretended he wasn’t shocked… and then… and then The Handshake happened.
Ya know. The “You’re A Heathen” Handshake. Both of Pastor’s hands grabbed one of his, gripped it real tight, let the hold get warm and too-personal. Shimano shook his arm like he could shake the devil out of Taiga. It was a rapid fire stream of “Good to see you here, brother. Glad you came to have fellowship with us. I think you’re going to like what we’re doing here, brother. I think this message is going to really resonate with you. In your heart, brother. We’re glad you came, man. Just real, real glad you came.”
Taiga rode the wave of sick, and hurt, and angry, and… and whatever else was stretching his ribs out, before pulling his hand back and stuffing them in his pockets. “Yeah, yeah… I’m happy to be here…” All of the warmth and light in Taiga had fizzled out. He worked real hard not to let his tongue show.
There it was again, a sound like an air siren. Yasuko and Shimano were talking. That double-edged fake-nice bullshit, on both sides. He couldn't focus. His hand tingled and burnt. His head hurt. Taiga just wanted to sit down and eat some pizza…
God fucking damn it he had to quit zoning out! He was brought back to the conversation by Shimano’s machine-gun laugh, wincing without meaning to. “Oh yeah, that’s him right there. Goro Majima, our newest Deacon and my youngest. I adopted him, so I don’t mind if you can’t see the family resemblance.” Shimano looked like he was wearing a person suit, the way his eyes got big and his mouth twisted with a joke that — frankly — seemed mean-spirited.
Yasuko locked arms with Taiga again. She could see Taiga was a space-case. In whatever way she could, his little sister wanted to keep him grounded.
Shimano’s big arm motioned to the crowd, crowing for his boy to come on up and stop being so shy.
Taiga was lost in the thought of dunking his head in that sherbert-punch again, only barely listening. “This is Yasuko Saejima, you know Yasuko don’t you.” Saejima kept his head turned, unwilling to look at the weird-meat-suit that was pretending to be a people. He heard a low mutter of agreement, Yeah, I’ve met Miss Yasuko…
“And this is her brother, Taiga!” Everything felt tilted and wrong. He turned, looking at Pastor Shimano and… and Majima. The Guy. The weird baby-faced, crooked-nose goblin boy. The Deacon. Taiga’s eyebrows shot up high on his forehead, ducking his head down in a nod. The two men looked at each other, eyeing the other like an alien had landed.
Pastor Shimano moved too damn quick. He stepped, wrapping a thick arm around Saejima’s shoulders and pulling him into a “man hug”. There was that smile again. The not-people smile. Taiga swallowed heavy, watching both Yasuko and Goro try their damndest to keep on a good face.
“Now I thought I saw something when Yasuko frogged your arm a few minutes ago…” Still more sirens joined the screaming in his head. Taiga was one-hundred percent sure he knew where this was going. Because he’d seen this whole train wreck from the second he stepped foot inside this fucking place. “...What’s up with your tongue there, buddy? Go on and show us. I wanna see if my eyes were playing tricks on me.”
Yasuko was white as a sheet, not able to keep up the facade anymore. Majima looked bored, uncomfortable, his eyes flitting around the two men in front of him like if they stayed still for too long his eyeballs would fall out.
There was a beat. Two beats. Shimano’s grip got tighter, his voice lost some of the fake congeniality it had. “Go on, brother Taiga, show us.”
Both Saejimas sighed in tandem, instantly regretting the entire day. Taiga opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, showing off the freshly-healed split.
Majima’s eyes stopped flickering, they landed on his tongue and stayed there.
Two more beats. Majima turned a sharp one-eighty and promptly walked the fuck off, shoulders bunched up around his ears while Shimano laughed.
Without a doubt, this was what Saejima’s personal preview of hell. Surrounded on all sides by oblivious, chittering, faceless blobs while some overbearing patriarch thumbed through his insecurities, poking and prodding until something stuck.
Shimano’s arm still gripped him tight around the shoulders. Taiga didn't need to wonder how this looked from the outside: he knew. This wasn't his first time at the Heathen rodeo. From outside, Pastor's laugh was full of joy, and warmth, and light. They were buddy-buddy, just an anointed man in fellowship and one of the Shepard's Lost Lambs. Nobody on the outside could see that Shimano was holding so tight Taiga could feel the bruises forming. Nobody knew that Shimano had used his own son as a piece in a cruel game where everyone but Shimano left feeling humiliated and off-kilter.
Taiga never gave his sister enough credit. She'd always been a self-possessed, motivated young girl. Now, older, right on the edge of adulthood? She was unstoppable, some insane master of Jedi mind fucks and verbal judo. He'd never had the skills. It was just easier to punch it out (which was very frowned upon in church.)
When it clicked for Yasuko, and she could see what was really going on, she waited for her first opening and struck. Tugging her brother by the arm, she managed to pull him from Shimano's grip by surprise alone. Linked arm and arm with the elder Saejima, she beamed up at the two men.
“I hate to butt in pastor, but I haven't seen my brother in almost six months! Everyone else can take a number after me for Taiga's time.” Her voice was lovely and clear, like the morning trill of a bird or a crystal bell. But there was no mistaking: the conversation was over. Shimano was not welcome.
To drive the point home she peered up at Taiga, ribbing him just a little. “You told me you hadn't eaten yet, and if we wait any longer there won't be any left! Go get us some plates and I'll find a table!”
Saejima’s retreat was neither graceful nor inconspicuous. He fucking booked it out of that semi-circle like his ass was on fire. Taiga gladly plunged himself into the line, grabbing plates and food while aggressively ignoring his surroundings.
Yasuko hadn't given Shimano time to answer or argue, blurting out a too-cheerful goodbye and quickly disappearing into the crowd of church-folk. She'd been adamant that Taiga didn't need to come — that she knew how awful the church was to him. She hadn't been able to pick the venue for her graduation party, and she hadn't been able to convince her parents to split her graduation day with Taiga. But both Saejima children were stubborn as mules. Taiga's parents wanted to do anything they could to keep him from celebrating Yasuko's graduation, so Taiga was going to do whatever he had to do to see his baby sister.
There was a quiet table, up against the far corner of the giant space, maybe only a step or two from the back door. Strategic. Safe. When Taiga returned with his arms heaped full of plates of pizza, cans of off-brand soda, and tiny bags of chips; he was struck with just how kind his little sister was. Yasuko had found a spot that left him an easy out, but didn't look too much like he'd holed himself up.
Laying out their spread, Taiga gave Yasuko a loving pat on her shoulder. “I always knew you got all the brains in the family.” She blew a raspberry, cracking open a soda and portioning off her share of the food.
“Did I tell you? I wanted my party to be small. A few friends and I check out that fancy new pizza joint that opened up a few blocks from you.” Taiga nodded as he listened, face stuffed full of food. He had a feeling about the answer, but he still asked, “So whycome that idea got veto’d? Sounds cheaper'n all this.” He gestured vaguely to the tables, the packs of church people, the low but constant strum of acoustic guitar and whisper-singing about Jesus.
She cut her eyes at her older brother before swallowing down a mouthful of food, “You know why. Dad’s dime means dad's choices. He knows it’s close to where you stay, didn't wanna risk me seeing you.” Taiga huffed and rolled his eyes. Sounded about right. Better to spend thousands more on a party that only made him look good than to let Yasuko into the same town as her brother. They fell into silence, mostly comfortable, mostly because their mouths were full, only a little because both siblings were frustrated and sad for reasons they couldn't fully articulate.
Yasuko wasn't really the favorite child. She was just the child who almost died. After all that shit went down… pouring resources into Yasuko became a matter of principal. Look what you could have been if you had just listened. Taiga saw through the bullshit, and he didn't let it sour how he felt about his sister. But he'd always been real hurt, real fucking torn up, that his own parents would play their kids against each other like that.
They picked up talking again, trading stories, shooting the shit, just in general enjoying each other's company. It was easy to push away bad shit that happened to them — they'd had a lot of practice. Sometimes Saejima hated how different their lives had turned out. He kept expecting for their to be some line in the sand where Yasuko would decide Taiga was just too much hassle and fade out on him.
How long had he been here? An hour? A day? Ten fucking years? He checked his phone… forty-five minutes. Fuck. He wasn’t sure he could physically stay here any longer without bursting into flame or throwing a blood clot. It was… it was the everything. The smell of varnished gym flooring, the acoustic guitar music, the quiet rumble of church-talk, the way a different group would shoot Yasuko a sad, supportive look every few minutes. There won’t a damn thing in this concrete abomination of a church that didn’t remind him of absolutely horrible shit.
Their food was done. The idea now was to walk around. Talk to friends. Trade pleasantries… but Taiga ain't had no friends in the church, and no one involved had pleasantries to share. Close to an hour was close enough, right?
“I like seein’ ya. I like gettin’ ta eat with you, too. But I gotta go…” ASPCA should have traded all those sad puppies for Saejima’s face — with his jowly cheeks and gentle, wet eyes. He looked twice as pathetic as any wrinkly mutt had ever looked. Yasuko rubbed his arm, reaffirming and reassuring in equal measure.
“Shimano was rude as fuck,” Yasuko sucked her teeth and shot the blurry shape of his bald head a real nasty look. It made her brother huff with laughter, which was better than nothing. “You go home. Once Dad stops bein’ so fuckin nutso I’ll make the drip down to you.” They hugged and it was a quick, clean goodbye. Saejima slipped out the back door as quickly and quietly as he could.
Behind the church was a mix of access road and staff parking. Cheap gravel. Even the smell of road-dust by the church was enough to make him think about more sad shit he didn’t like.
He felt the wicked hard-edged thwack! against his calf before he heard it. The soft thud didn’t do enough to sell just how fucking hard that lighter had hit him. Saejima whipped around, already prepared to beat the shit out of whatever backwoods dill hole had the nerve to follow him out the door.
Majima could always count on two things: his aim sucked when he was mad, and his lighter always broke when he really needed a smoke. “God damn it!” Unlike inside, the Deacon’s voice was rough, a lil’ hoarse, and loud enough to wake the dead. Saejima stared at Majima. Majima stared back. Both men were vaguely pink in the cheeks, Majima with a cigarette hanging out his mouth and Saejima with his left hook raised like he was ready to swing on someone.
“I ain't aimin’ at you,” Majima was the first to straighten himself out, patting his chest pocket before moving to his pants. “Stupid lighter ain't worth shit,” Saejima’s mouth hung open, watching this church dude grumble to himself like a nut job while he slapped various parts of his body looking for a lighter. One beat. Two. Yep, the scrawny undercut in front of him would just keep muttering. Saejima pulled his own lighter out, one hand shielding the flame from any stray breeze.
“Hah? Oh—“ The click of the lighter is what brought Majima back. He ducked his head down, lit up, and sighed in relief. “Was s’posed ta quit.” He looked over one shoulder, than the other, and then he took another puff. “Sorry I hit you.”
Saejima blinked, long and slow, trying to piece together the frantic, scrambled energy that hadn’t seemed to exist in the church. “T’aint a problem. Just plastic.” He shrugged while he fished out his pack of cigs and lit up himself. It was rude to let a man smoke alone, after all.
Face to face like they were, it was a lil weird. Majima had big ole’ dark brown eyes that looked right through you. Taiga stepped a little to the side, so at least he could feel more normal. “Sorry I stuck my tongue out. Shit’s still healin’ a lil.”
Majima went pale again, but up this close Saejima could see his Adam’s apple bob with a heavy swallow. He made some noise that was supposed to be an answer but really just sounded like hearing a radio in a different room. (Low, vaguely word-like, staticky.)
“Didn’t know Deacons smoked. Or cursed.” Taiga had tried, and failed, to keep his tone conversational. Majima’s eyebrow raised and his face contorted in a mix of being confused and affronted at the same time. He ashed his cigarette and shrugged, showing off more teeth in his grin than Saejima thought was strictly necessary.
“Yeah? I’ll bring that up at the next elder meetin’.”
It went quiet. Both men still stared at each other — but a little less like they was lookin’ at aliens.
“Ain't seen you around — an’ I’d remember you. There a reason for that?” In the entire history of Saejima’s life, no one had ever asked him that outright before. Majima didn’t try and dance around how much of a sore thumb Taiga was. Or how he’d never shown his face at the church until today. Saejima was a lil’ weak in the knees, honestly. Some of it was from swooning but most of it was from shock.
He didn’t even know Deacon’s could ask questions like that. Taiga’s tiny smile turned into a scowl that rested itself in that in-between state of grimace and grin where you couldn’t tell between them.
“Lil’ bit cuz I’m dressed like this,” Saejima motioned toward the bog-standard adult-goth attire, “But mostly y’ain’t seen me cuz I got kicked out. I’m not the church’s type.”
Majima took a deep drag of his cigarette and nodded his head — yep. Yeah. That sounded about right. “Dodged a bullet; I tell you whut.” He dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped it out, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shooting an ugly look at the back door of the church.
Saejima had an idea what the deacon meant, but he wasn’t sure. …You know what? He’d taken dumber chances with less evidence before. “You should take this,” He dug around in his pockets some more and came back with a matchbook. It was printed with the name and address of the club he worked at: The Garden of Eden.
“Just in case, uh,” Taiga faltered, the tips of his ears turning red, “In case you ain’t the church’s type either.” The second Majima had a grip on it? Taiga turned on his heel and left — and he worked real hard on not looking like he was hauling ass away like a high school kid who’d just given someone a love note. Not that it mattered, anyway, Majima was too busy gawking at the club’s name.
Shimano always said that God was always sending us messages — but we had to be open to listenin’ to em. Normally, that was used as a way to scold his adopted son for not living a more righteous life. If God did send messages, he had one hell of a sense of humor. He’d heard the real sanctified church members whispering and carrying on about ‘The Garden’. Everyone said it was a ‘freaky gay sex club.’ And to top it all off, a man with a literal forked tongue gave him the invitation.
The Lord was testing him.