Banging the Hot MILFs of Tokyo

Everyone looked straight to Yuki, some laughing at his remark. Yuki exhaled, wading off the guy as soon as he spotted a small space he could squish himself in between the rod and the edge of the seat.

To him it was better than picking up a fight with this hooligan. "You can have the seat." Yuki murmured, holding the bag by the not so torn part of the handle and making his way to his seat, however, the calmness Yuki had only infuriated him the more.

"You think you're cool just by ignoring me?" the guy growled, breathing sharply. He had a strong cigarette and marijuana scent from his mouth causing Yuki to squeeze his nose inwards.

Yuki wasn't given time to think nor could answer—or even blink— as he felt a sturdy thug on his shoulders. He was yanked backward by the collar of his shirt, stumbling slightly as his spine hit the man's chest.

Yuki's heart thudded. 'Shit.' Yuki choked on his words, his neck tightening alongside while his limbs were lifted from the ground just by a simple grab on his collar.

They were eye to eye now.

Close.

Too close.

Yuki finally grasped the man's facial appearance now. The guy was slightly taller, bulkier, with the kind of look that said 'I start fights because I'm bored.' He jabbed at Yuki's cheeks, and then burst into laughter. "You are definitely a mummy's boy, aren't you?"

"Mister who ever you are, I'm not trying to a fight with you. If you would just let me down, you can have the seat I don't give a shit again—"

"Because you are scared to fight me huh?"

Before Yuki could blink, a heavy fist slammed straight into the bridge of his nose. Pain exploded through his skull like a flashbang. His head whipped back, that moment all he saw was darkness with a strip of blood. Blood gushed instantly down from his nose to his jaw.

He stared at the man, eyes wide, face painted with shock and blood. The station went dead silent for a heartbeat, all Yuki saw was red, revenge and pain.

Yuki launched his legs forward, ramming them into the man's stomach. The guy flew backward, crashing against the subway pillar behind him with a loud thud. Passengers screamed and scattered, some pulling out their phones, others backing away to watch the fight in a safe distance.

"You wanted a fight? You got one!" Yuki shouted, barely recognizing his own voice. He wiped his palm's through his bleeding nose and then on his trousers. The man recovered quickly, grabbing Yuki by the collar again, but this time Yuki wriggled out of his grasp, driving his knee up into the guy's thigh, then his ribs—once, twice—until the man coughed and shoved Yuki off.

"You little brat, when did you learn to fight like that?"

The man managed to grab Yuki's hoodie and slammed him down onto one of the steel station benches. Yuki lost his breath in an instant, the high rush vanishing from him. His gaze was in a blur and the cold drip of blood from his head only told him one thing that he had cracked his head.

Just as the guy raised a hand again, ready for another swing, two subway guards tackled him from behind, pouncing on him until he had him under control and led him out of the subway. The last glanced at Yuki, his baton wacking Yuki out of consciousness.

*******

Police station...

Beep

Beep

Yuki stirred with a groan, the pain in his head pulsing like a drum. His vision returned in fragments, just a blur. He tried to lift his eye upwards but only dim fluorescent light, tiled walls were seen. The echo of running water on his skin and from the tap was the only sound he heard freaking him out.

His body ached, every inch of it weighed down from being bruised. That was when his eyes spurned open. He wasn't in a hospital.

This was... a station washroom?

The air had this stinging sterile scent of antiseptica. His eyes fluttered open fully, his body submerged in warm water inside an old bathtub. His shirt was gone. So were his shoes. Only his trousers clung to him, wet and heavy.

A soft touch dragged a soaked cloth gently across his chest, circling near the bruises over his chest region

He stiffened.

"Relax," came a voice. A woman's. Soft, calm, yet commanding.

Yuki turned his head slightly, and there she was—a woman in her late fourties, dressed in a navy station uniform. Her name tag read C.M.O DR. REI. Her black hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, her sleeves rolled to her elbows.

"What are you... doing?" Yuki's voice was a croaky whisper.

Rei didn't stop her movement. She dabbed the cloth beneath his collarbone, carefully avoiding the swollen mess of his nose. The last round of soft massage ended and she hadn't spoken anything. She took him out of the bathroom, flinging a towel on him as she led him into another chamber.

"Ssat," Rei commanded, putting on the light. It was a mini clinician office with the usual hospital bed, bandages and drip littered on the table. I walked carefully to the bed and sunk my butt on the edge of the bed.

Rei rummaged through a steel cabinet, packing out the last batch of medical supplies. "You fractured your nasal bridge," she said matter-of-factly, pulling out a sterile pack. "You're lucky it's not displaced. Still, you'll need rest. No form of injury seen, just some bruises but you are gonna have a bit of breathing issues."

"Oh," Yuki nodded, falling into bed as he adjusted to the center of the bed. He was pained that today he both had to spend a night in the police station because of that hooligan. REI went out of the room coming shortly with an officer.

"Yuki Mori right?"

Yuki gulped in, afraid that they might lock him up for engaging in a fight. "I didn't mean to be involved. He began it first and I had to fight for myself."

Yuki hadn't finished explaining as he grabbed his right hand and clasped it onto the bed. "You think I hurt anyone?"

"Mr. Mori, you have to cooperate with me. How did the fight begin?"

Yuki opened his mouth to explain how it all started then blinked, realizing he had only a fragment of memory from the time he asked the man why he tore his bag to the time he lost consciousness.

The fuck?!

This wasn't the time to loose such precious memory.

Yuki screamed loudly in his head, squinting more to see if they'd return. They didn't...and somehow every time he had a blackout, he returned with no memory!

"Let me be clear, Mr. Mori," the officer leaned in, holding a small notepad while he took his sit on the padded metal seat. "A dozen packets of marijuana were found in your bag. The suspect claims he knows you—and that both of you were headed to Ibaraki before the fight broke out. Says the disagreement started because you couldn't settle on who'd get the highest cut from the sale."

"...."

"I—what?" he croaked.

The officer's gaze hardened. "Is there any refute to this?"

Yuki snapped out of his shock. "Why the fuck would I be selling hard drugs? I've never even touched marijuana in my life, let alone trafficked it!" His voice cracked. "You can run a urine test. Blood test. Hair strand. Hell, check my DNA if you want—I swear I'm clean!"

The officer scribbled something down on his notebook.

"Calm down, Mr. Mori. We're following protocol. A tox screen is already being arranged. But understand—you were found unconscious with that bag in your possession, and the suspect insists you're working together."

Yuki glanced at the table, his eyes locking onto the old, torn bag now sealed inside a transparent evidence pouch. He assumed all this was part of the questioning procedure not until he found the marijuana in the bag.

"Sir," Yuki said, his voice steadier now, "that guy tore my bag on purpose. I was trying to move away. I gave up the seat. He wanted a fight. I didn't even know his name!"

"Then how do you explain the drugs?"

"I can't!" Yuki barked, then caught himself. "I don't know how it got there. I swear. That's not even my stuff. I've had that bag since high school. Anyone could've slipped something in—on the train, or at the station."

The officer leaned back, eyeing him like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "You were framed is what you are trying to say? Can I call your parents or anyone who'd vouch for you?"

"Is that necessary?" Yuki didn't know what else to say. His mother was psychotic, his elder sister in the fourth stage of cancer and his younger sister, she was twelve! Not sure if she even understood what a hard drug meant.

"You will need someone to bail you out and if you can't, you'd have to remain here." The officer stood up slowly, closing his notebook with a soft thud and walked to the door with a nonchalant attitude. "We'll run the tox tests and re-evaluate. Until then, you'll be held in custody," the officer said flatly, already turning the knob. "In the meantime, Dr. REI will fix your bruises that's if there is any."

"I have someone! I have someone!" Yuki shouted, his voice cracking mid-sentence as panic surged through him. He pushed himself halfway off the bed, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

The man turned slowly, raising a brow. "Who?"

Yuki swallowed. His mind raced.

Who again did he have?

"Emi" he blurted. "She was my boss while I worked in a bakery to earn more money. She knows me—knows I'd never do this. I haven't even taken a cigarette. Please. You can call her."

"Full name and number."