Sinking Halfway to the Bottom 1

Melvin Bjorn was an artist at heart. From the moment he picked up a pen as a child, his imagination ran wild with ideas of what he wanted to draw. Naturally, they started off as nothing more than crude scribbles on paper with little rhyme or definition given to them. But as the years went on, his craft gradually improved, all to aspire to the same greatness as his idol. Kazuma Kaneko.

Of course, he didn't just do it for that reason. Weren't it not for his parents urging him to go along with it, the boy wouldn't have had given the hobby a second thought. But this man had given him inspiration to do some much more with his imagination. Broadening his view in a single thirty-second commercial.

Normally, nobody would give it a second glance. It was just some guy with lines violently shaking, some would even chalk it up to a don't do drugs ad. However, it all changed when he saw the small little writing on the box's upper right corner. "Featuring Dante from the Devil May Cry Series" His life spiraled from there.

In truth, the game had helped him deal with the separation of his parents, easing the stress of his situation, having to choose which of them he loved more. It tore him apart. To the point where drawing became numb to him. Alas, he eventually had to decide who to stay with, and through much turmoil, left with his mother back to her home country of Japan, wanting nothing more than to forget the broken home his father now owned.

Stifling a shaky sigh, his mother held his hand, a tired look adorning her face as he looked down towards the small dining room table. He hasn't sent us the money yet, huh?, Melvin inwardly pondered, twiddling his thumbs as a weight pressed against his back. It had been one of those days again, without a chair to support themselves, it had been getting harder and harder to breathe in this place.

His mother didn't have the best starting off point either, seeing as she had to stop her education abroad to take care of him, eventually marrying his dad after being disowned by her own family. A memory best left forgotten, especially with the number of times she had him swear to wear a condom.

Planting his face over the table, he hid a grimace under yet another sigh, teeth gritting against one another. Keeping his eyes on the faux wooden surface, he steeled his resolve to what was to come. No son could bear to see their mother like this, after all. Let alone when she had to take the burden all by herself.

"I'll- 'll-," Melvin stuttered, the weight growing heavier with each attempt, silent sobs croaking from his tightening throat. "I'll see if I can pick up a job on the side." He finally uttered, still no less difficult than the first attempt. "Preferably something that won't conflict with school, help out with paying the bills for a bit, at least, until we can get something more stable."

Silence boomed in his ears, ringing as if a bomb had exploded right next to them. He made his stance, and he wouldn't be swayed by his mother's words, no matter what. He had to do it, even if it hurt her to see him like this. At least then, they could have a chance at a better future. The boy's fists stretched white as he clasped them together, faltering when a pair of arms wrapped around his neck.

Then, wetness drenched his shoulder, a pit dropping where his heart stood. No matter what, he chanted to himself, till it was the only thing he could hear, becoming even louder than his thoughts.

{---}​

From that day onward, time fluctuated in Melvin's eyes.

Each second felt infinitesimally long, and for some God-awful reason, short. No matter what he did, it all felt dragged out. And yet, when he was asked to recall what happened, he couldn't come up with a single good answer. It was as if he was living without purpose, a mindless zombie doing as he was told.

Toiling for what felt like an eternity, his eyes stared at the cash register, a bill in his hand and a waiting customer in front of him. For a moment, he had forgotten what he was doing, lost in the endless sea of thoughts polluting his mind like the growing patch of plastic in the ocean. And just like it, he could do nothing to fix the issue.

He performed tasks like a machine, his dexterous fingers going through the actions without a single wasted motion, all to deliver the "perfect" cup of coffee. What a load of bullshit, he thought, blankly staring at the man as he greeted several others like him, all dressed in matching business suits.

If his efforts ever amounted to anything, he wouldn't want to be a corpo like them, sitting at a desk never able to climb further than the bottom. However, he could only turn to himself, the only one working the shift, all alone at the very bottom. It was an irony he came to a great number of times, one of the many he'd think of to pass the time.

Alas, nothing could ease the boredom, his shoulders sagging as another one of the men came to order his drink. "You, boy, fix me six americanos and a birthday cake milkshake, with rainbow sprinkles, would you? And if you make it snappy, I'll make it worth your while." Had he been in any other situation, he would have thought the man solicited him for sex, but he was not in one of those.

Tugging at the corners of his lips, he forced a smile as he inputted the items onto the register, the number on the counter ticking up with each purchase. "That will be two thousand four hundred and twenty yen." He read, the machine loudly printing the receipt. "Will that be all?"

"Yeah, yeah." The man waved him off, handing over the bills. "And make it quiet, no need to announce that you're there." Handing the man over his change, he snatched it right out of Melvin's hands, the crunching of the crisp bill sending shivers down his spine. "We'll be taking the meeting room in the back."

Without another word, the suited man walked off, grumbling several unheard words under his breath, the temperature of the room lowering by several degrees. The air-con is acting up again, the former artist noted. Frankly, he was quite tired of that thing, especially since it was wintertime.

Breaking himself out of his thoughts, he dutifully performed his tasks, handling everything the best that he could, being extra particular with the amount of chocolate he drizzled over the shake, along with the way it was drawn. Not a single line out of place, not a single second drop wasted, all brewed to "perfection".

Placing the lid on top of the last drink, Melvin wiped the bead of sweat trailing down the edge of his cheek, marveling at the sight. At heart, he supposed he was still an artist, no matter the medium. Even if his time for the craft was hampered by circumstance, he still, whether consciously or not, used it in everyday work.

He slid all of them onto a tray but not before fixing his slightly disheveled appearance. Brushing a strand of hair off to the side, fixing his hunched posture, and straightening out his apron. Once the final details were done, he trotted over to one of the many rooms in the back, checking his watch and waiting for the new minute to open the door.

One, his foot parted the wooden frame, being met with much resistance. Two, the boy managed to claw for a modicum of space, enough to put his foot through the door. Three, only for it to slam from both sides, a silent gasp ringing through his lungs as pain shot through his system. Four, he knocked, trying to stay composed all throughout, the unshed tear pooling on his eye going unnoticed. Five, the door opened, revealing a dark-haired woman at the end of the table.

He tried to walk, but his feet refused to listen. His eyes tried to avert themselves from the woman, but they didn't want to. She had a youthful figure, easily looking as if she were in the prime of her life, and yet, the air she gave off was childish, it would seem. In fact, it could also be said that if she wore his school's girl's uniform, nobody would think twice about calling her one of his classmates.

"Come now, didn't your parents ever teach you that it's rude to stare." She said in a whiny tone, the whiplash bringing Melvin back to reality. "Apologies for your foot, but it really can't be helped. We hadn't expected you to come so early, so we thought you were an intruder for a second." She giggled into her palm, her voice flowing like a sweet melody, his mind utterly taken aback.

For the next few seconds, his head spun in loops, again, performing actions as a machine would. Only, his eyes were just drawn to the girl, glancing at her when the opportunity arose.

Quickly excusing himself out of the room, Melvin ran back into the kitchen, turning on the tap and splashing himself with the water. That didn't just happen, he refused to believe it. Sure, there were some women that caught his interest, that was going to happen especially in his line of work. But she…. She was different, in a way the boy couldn't explain.

He almost found it laughable, pathetic in some ways. For him to have been struck by cupid's bow, even if it was such a short amount of time. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and went back to the cashier, confining himself to the box-like space.

Once more, time flashed at the speed of light, his sight blurring into nothing more than blobs. Without shape, without form, it felt as though something had gripped his heart and refused to let go. Then, the back of his mind rumbled, shaking with the force of an unending earthquake.

Dread rooted Melvin's body to the floor, as a harsh rumbling shook him to his core. How much longer did he have until his shift's end? How long did the group stay in that room? Questions piled on in his mind, each brimming with more curiosity than the last. "Will I survive this week?" He whispered under his breath, his pulse pounding to the beat of a drum solo, rapid, roaring.

Make it stop, he inwardly pleaded, his breath hitching more and more. Make it stop, make it stop! Words had no effect, nor did physical pain, his fingers unconsciously bending to distract himself momentarily.

Suddenly, a chorus of voices peeked from over the corner, one of them bringing his ears into a soft caress that shattered the barrier between him and reality. It had been six hours, and they were finally coming out, at the tail end of his shift as well. He had to guess they took as long as they needed to, but a few counter arguments dismissed that notion.

Wiping down the counter for the umpteenth time, a ding from the nearby bell enraptured his attention. It was like a moth to a flame, the artist's eyes observing each and every detail of her face as he would a piece of art. Immaculate, holding more beauty than the creations in his imagination. If Melvin had to guess how he looked at that moment, he'd say starstruck.

"Again with the staring, you could at least be subtle about it." The raven-haired woman chastised, the boy scratching at his neck in embarrassment. "Honestly, I don't mind the looks, quite used to it actually. But a little bit more tact goes a long way, you know?"

"Yeah," He nodded in agreement, watching the smile on her face widen.

"Great, now, if you'll excuse me, I would like another milkshake. Vanilla this time." She said without skipping a beat, Melvin's ears twitching slightly. "Oh, and could you drizzle some strawberry syrup on the top? Not that much, but enough to make it noticeable."

For someone that looked fairly Japanese, her Swedish was perfect, the boy noted. He might even say she was better at it than him. Clearing his throat, he swapped over to his native tongue, feeling at ease enough to do so. "You seem pretty good at using Swedish, how long have you been practicing?"

He placed the ingredients into a blender, then returned to look at the woman again, her brows quivering and lips thinning… A mild sense of annoyance? "A few years now." She answered whilst shaking her head. "Have business with a company from there, so it would only serve to gain me standing in their eyes. Though, it was the culture that pulled me into learning the language."

Melvin hummed, pressing the button to turn on the blender, his voice dimmed by the mechanical roars of the machine. It pulsed, rent the ice a sunder, and mixed everything into a fine liquid. "Nice, it's always good to pick up a new language, even if it's difficult to do so. I mean, I myself only have a cursory understanding of Japanese as a whole."

"Well, like most things, it's all about practice, isn't it?" She cleared her throat, getting out a few coughs due to the roughness. "Like with Japanese, you don't just learn it in a day. It takes consistent practice, but the reward for your diligence is the ability to communicate with others. What greater gift is there than that? "

A chuckle, fleeting in its volume broke from his lips, smiling to himself. "I suppose so, I suppose so." His eyes warmly squinted as he poured the contents of the shake, layering on the whip cream and syrup shortly after. "And if you don't mind, then would you care to share your name with me?"

Immediately, she perked up at the thought. Bouncing up like a jack in a box as she sat herself on the counter, staring down at him. "Little old me? Well, how could I say no to a fan? Serafall, at your service. Though, I prefer to be called 'Levia-tan'."

{---}​

Odd for someone to name themselves after the Leviathan of all things, the boy inwardly mused, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, as the faint memory replayed on loop. He was still thinking about what happened despite an hour having already passed. Guess this was the few times he was allowed a moment of rest.

Coldly staring up into the sky, only the light of a crescent moon could be seen in the night's darkness, not a single star showing itself. It was days like this that kept him alive and moving. That despite all adversity, there was still something over the corner to look forward to. It was laughable, really. To put hope into something that neither was guaranteed nor had a high chance of happening.

What a fool he was, Melvin laughed at himself, the pit in his heart growing deeper with each step. His feet crunched against the soft snow, the odd feeling of being watched raising the hairs all across his body. No, that couldn't be right, he was all alone on the street, naught a single soul to accompany him from end to end.

Except, it wasn't from below, but high above the invisible clouds. The cold winter air brushed against his skin, sharply cutting into his flesh. A knife, he initially jumped onto, the beat of his heart thumping through his chest. His teeth grit to dust, as warmth spread throughout his body, followed by a dizzying cold. Who? What? When? Where?, he desperately tried to get out, only a single response coming out of his mouth, "What… What the fuck?"

His body fell to the floor, mind spinning around in circles whilst he attempted to rationalize the situation he found himself in. But he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. Then, the loud flapping of wings filled his ears, and it all became clear.

A large bird, whose height towered over the buildings surrounding him loomed in the sky, gliding down like a demented air plane. Even in his vulnerable state, his body pushed itself beyond whatever limits Melvin had set previously, using every fiber of his being to get the hell away from it. Clawing across the pavement, he dragged himself through the cement road, his skin flaying and finger nails peeling off.

Please don't give out now! Please don't give out now!, he chanted to no end, his arms faltering in their function as another strike cut through his left elbow as though it were butter, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. This… this was real. Crying out into the sky, his pain screams were met with not a single response, as a dull thud welcomed him to an almost evil presence.

There was no time to look back, even if his curiosity urged him to do so. There was no time to be scared, lest he die a most painful death. There was no time to die, his mother wouldn't be able to survive without him. There was no time to die, he had to see her again. Just when his life started getting better, it couldn't just fall into the deep end again.

Melvin's arms and legs kicked off the ground with all their might. Just a little bit more, damnit. His breath haggard, the life flashing before his eyes. His vision blurring to welcome the abyss, a frozen tundra covering his body under a layer of snow.

For the boy's entire life, he had considered winter the most depressing time of the year, a time where nothing but coldness enveloped him from all sides, a seemingly endless sea of snow and dead trees. From there, it wouldn't take long for his mother and father to start arguing from there, sparking from little more than petty backhanded insults at the other.

Ah, when the world was simpler and he could live with not a single woe. How he wanted to experience that once more. The blissful ignorance of youth. The warm comfort that whatever you did, it will always be enough to make your parents ṕ̮̻̽̿ͅŗ̲̹̀̊͌ǒ͚̱͋ų̖̊͂d̮̬͈͋̌̃͘͢.

No, that was a lie. A false narrative built by his head. He had to wake up. Wake up! Wake up! He had hit a wall, a gentle warmth that he couldn't slip out of caressing him. No, no, no! You won't take this from me. Not here, and not fucking now! Clawing his way out of the wall, he desperately clung onto his last vestiges of life, eyes fluttering open as though he'd awoken from an awful dream. He had to live, fight no matter what.

Peaceful Days have Died. Hold All that is Close to You and Survive.