Author's Note:

Hi everyone! I'm not really sure how lively the 8059 fandom is anymore, but if you're reading this story, please know I have other chapters written and I am constantly updating and editing them. So expect updates! :)

If you would like to be a beta or have any ideas for this story, questions are welcome, too, just let me know!

Contents: TYL!80TYL!59, TYL!8059, 8059 (all are eventual, i guess?)

The beginning or the end.

I open my eyes. It's quiet all around me. I sit up slowly. It's dark and I don't know where I'm at.

But I know when I am at, ten years into the past.

"I don't know what will happen if I send you there. All I know is that you can't come back!"

My mind starts to reel as this realization starts to really set in. I start to panic. My heart racing, I begin to shake in anger, fear, and pain. I try to calm myself down. I don't know how long I sit there for, but I finally pick myself up.

"Ouch," I mumble to no one in particular. Dried blood caked on my arms cracks and flakes off of my arms. That isn't my blood. My chin hurts so I put my hand up to it; I can feel the bone. My chin stings and I flinch as I draw my hand away, blood drips down my fingers down my wrist.

I close my eyes. And I cry.

Three years later.

I sit down on a stool at the sushi bar, it's near empty in Takesushi. There are a few men drinking at one of the tables on the main floor, but it's nearing closing time and the men are clearing out fast. From the corner of my eye, I watch Dad do a double-take as he approaches me to take my order. As he approaches, my insides twist and I have to breathe slowly to control my emotions. Times like these make me realize that my Dad, the Dad that I left in the future, may be suffering through a life without me or may not even exist at all. I wince inside but look up at Dad. He looks so young! The lines around his eyes and mouth are less harsh and deep than the last time I saw him. His hair does not have grey streaks nor does he look skinny or frail.

"I'm going to be closing up soon, but can I get you something to eat or drink before that time comes?" He looks at me, slightly apprehensive, as if he's looking or searching for something. Does he know that it's me?

I nod and make it look like I'm looking at the drink menu but I know Dad's menu like the back of my hand, "I'll take the Osaka Dry."

While mixing my drink, Dad calls over his shoulder at me, "I don't do this for anyone you know! I follow the rules and check all IDs. How old are you? 24, 25?" He puts the bottles away and walks around the bar, setting my drink down for me and sits on the stool next to me. He leans his elbow on the bar and looks me over.

"Mm, around that age," I absent-mindlessly answer, looking about the restaurant.

Dad asks, "You know, I have a son and he looks just like you. That's why I ask."

I laugh and say, "I always hear that from people. I guess I just have one of those faces."

Dad's eyebrow raises and he remarks seriously, "I don't think you have 'one of those faces.' Where does someone get such a scar?"

I smirk as I sip slowly from my drink. "That's quite the question, old man. I could ask you the same. Where did you get your scars?" With my free hand I motion to some fading lines across the back of his hands.

"Ah haha!" Dad's infectious laughter makes me smile, "do you know anything about the Asarigumi?" I shake my head 'no' but he presses me further, "I got my scars from sword fighting. You can't tell now, but back in my day, I was quite the skilled swordsman. I ask you if you know the Asarigumi dojo because you have the physique of a swordsman. Look, all of my cards are on the table. I'll admit you've captured my interest. I can't let someone walk away who looks like they've seen fights that would end others; there is something special about you."

My drink finished, I tilt the empty glass one side to another in my hand. I don't answer Dad, I think I miscalculated how much he really knew about fighting.

"Well, it's something. I'm caught up in the mafia," I judge his reaction as I talk.

He narrows his eyes, not sure what to believe. "The mafia's reverting back to sword fights and doing so in Japan?"

I laugh, "I don't think my father would believe it either."

Dad now laughs with me, "I'd put money on that," he leans in and tells me, "you don't have to tell me what you really do. I get business men in here that tell me they're the CEO of some big corporation, yeah right. So, don't feel pressured to tell me your real job." He leans back and laughs once more, "let me get you another drink. But, uh, what did you say your name was?"

I decide to press my luck, "My family name is Yamamoto."

My dad's pouring another Osaka Dry and he spills some, exclaiming, "Why, that's my family name! Do you have family in this area?"

I look like I'm thinking about his question, but instead I answer, "I don't think so. I'm only doing business here."

"Oh, okay. Well, any Yamamoto, related or not, is welcome here anytime, haha!" Dad's good nature shines and I thank him.

He pardons himself after a while to escort a few men out and locks the door. We talk for about an hour until he asks one last thing, "why don't you come back another time and meet my son. I feel like you two could be brothers. And if you come back, will you try some sparring with me?" He flexes his arms and says, "I still got some fight left in me yet!" We both roar with laughter and I agree, I tell him I will be back soon.