#66: fic: sleep like small stars fly back home
Title: sleep like small stars fly back home
Characters: Arashi
Rating: R for gore?
Summary: Alien-hunting, time-travelling samurai AU. No, really. Ohno has fully embraced the concept of tracksuits; Nino suspects that only Jun’s disapproval stops him from wearing them out in public as well. That, and the fact that his swords don’t hold up very well on tracksuit bottoms.
Word Count: ~3,700
A/N: Written for hwlinyitw, for the fandom fundraiser on arashi_on. She asked for a Gantz AU; I told her I hadn't watched Gantz and asked for another prompt. And then one night many months later I did watch Gantz, and... this happened. Thank you for your generous donation, hwlinyitw! I'm sorry this is so late, and only roughly inspired by Gantz and... bizarre. I hope you enjoy it anyway? ♥ Also, many thanks to g_esquared and calerine for not laughing at me when I told them about this premise.
This happens, like most other stories of its kind, on a moonless night.
They say that nights like this are nights when people slip through the cracks. When shadows grow and overwhelm, and something strange and dangerous fills the air. On nights like these, people do one of two things. Most withdraw into well-lit homes and wait out the night, unwilling to risk that indefinable fear.
Others counter that foreboding with shadows of their own.
Nino hates clubs like this one. There are too many bodies in too little space, pressed in close and writhing proximity. The music is far too loud, the amplified sound of some man shouting in unintelligible English over electronic bleeps and a pounding bass. Most of all, Nino hates that the booze is so damn expensive.
“I will return soon enough,” Jun promises, slipping off into the crowd.
Nino nods, and sticks close to the wall. Ohno is nowhere to be seen tonight.
He’s used to this by now, although he’s not quite sure why he still goes along with it. The favour he owes Jun and Ohno has long been repaid, by anyone’s reckoning. He’s certainly not in it for the scene.
Jun thrives on this. Nino’s never actually seen him dancing, but he manages to slink through the seething mass of people with ease.
Today someone will be consumed. By the lifestyle; the booze and the drugs, people will say. Nino knows better. There is a predator out in the crowd tonight, somewhere under the blinding strobes, navigating its way through the driving beat and the intermittent shadows. Nino knows this because Jun knows this. It is in places like this that people become prey.
Well, unless Jun gets there first.
There is a lull in the music; the racket blasting from the speakers goes quiet but for a few claps and a bass rhythm.
Someone cries out - a muffled shout; silenced.
The back door is pushed open and slams shut on its own. The music starts up again. Most nights, Nino stays where he is, waiting for Jun to return like he’s promised. Strangely, though, there is a nagging feeling of uncertainty tonight, a tiny what-if that Nino doesn’t feel like ignoring.
He follows.
Nino bolts towards the door, pushing his way out into the dank alleyway. Jun is standing there, facing the -
It is not a person. It might have looked like a person back in the club, but there is something grotesque about its features under the harsh fluorescence of a single lamp. Something about the way the flesh sags just that little bit, like it doesn’t fit right. Like the creature has taken a person and attempted somehow to wear it.
This one is small, Nino notes. There should be no problems.
Jun reaches for the katana sheathed at his hip.
“Come on. You have got nowhere to run.” Jun’s is the voice of a man utterly convinced of this truth.
This creature has nowhere to run.
It tries, anyway. Foolishly, stumblingly, at some speed, it tries to scale the side of the wall. It’s fast.
Jun is faster.
It’s like in one of those samurai dramas Nino used to watch as a boy, where the samurai dashes past his opponent and for a moment it seems like nothing has happened.
The creature is completely still for a second, frozen in the middle of its bid to escape. Then something like mild surprise crosses its ratlike face.
A spurt of black liquid bursts from its torso and flies in an arc to spatter against the surrounding walls. And then, sickeningly slowly, the entire top half of the creature’s body slides off from its waist and lands on the ground with a thud.
Nino finds his voice. “Fuck.”
Jun smiles grimly. “You could have waited.”
“Fuck,” says Nino again. He’s seen this a dozen times at least, but it never gets any less visceral.
“Come on,” says Jun. “I am hungry.”
Ohno is waiting for them when they get back to Nino’s place. Ever since Nino taught him how to turn on electrical appliances, he’s got either the television or radio on all the time. Nino knows he doesn’t even pay attention to it. But Ohno earns enough inking panels for a famous mangaka, so Nino doesn’t complain too much about electricity bills.
Today, Ohno is cleaning some gunk off his grey sweatshirt while in the background AKB48 chirp about falling in love.
“Easy kill?” asks Jun, removing his shoes and entering the one-room apartment. He may have picked up many new habits during his time in the twenty-first century, but that dignified way of sitting and standing still remains.
“You could say so.” Ohno plunges his sweatshirt into the sink of water. “Messy, though.”
“I can see that,” says Nino, kicking off his own shoes and flopping down on the floor with much less decorum than Jun. “There’s beer in the fridge and frozen onigiri in the freezer if either of you want it.”
Jun, in particular, is always ravenous after a kill. Nino reckons it’s the adrenaline rush, the incredible speed and strength he has to muster in pursuit of these creatures. Then again, both Jun and Ohno have been raised to be warriors. That fatal slice just now perhaps encapsulates everything that defines Jun.
“I would kill for some sake right now,” says Jun, yawning.
“Well, you’ve just got to do without,” Nino replies grumpily. “I’m going to bed.”
Laying out the futons is always a bit of a production in Nino’s cramped apartment; low tables need to be pushed aside and gaming consoles stowed. It is a wonder the three of them even fit.
Ohno finishes hanging up his sweatshirt and comes over to help, while Jun disappears off into the bathroom.
“No work tomorrow?” asks Nino.
“Sensei is taking a long break. Her dog died. I borrowed one of your tracksuits.”
Ohno has fully embraced the concept of tracksuits; Nino suspects that only Jun’s disapproval stops him from wearing them out in public as well. That, and the fact that his swords don’t hold up very well on tracksuit bottoms.
“I don’t think I’ve worn that since university,” Nino says, shrugging. “You can have it.”
Ohno bows. “Thank you, Nino-kun.” It has taken Ohno more than half a year to drop the honorifics when speaking with Nino.
“Not a problem.” He yawns, widely and protractedly, before crawling under the comforter. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“You haven’t brushed your teeth.”
“Fuck that,” Nino mumbles, and drops off before he can continue.
He is dimly aware of Jun emerging from the bathroom and standing over him for a while, speaking tersely with Ohno. Jun works the early morning shift at a nearby convenience store; he probably has his uniform on already. Someone - maybe Jun - reaches over to pull the comforter up to cover Nino’s shoulders.
“Rest well.”
Nino dreams of monsters.
Specifically, he dreams of that night.
He is delivering a washing machine again, a late order left over from the afternoon that he has to get done. Ryo’s already ditched him to go gadding with the girls from the main office.
The building looks deserted, and shouldn’t creep Nino out as much as it does. He’s delivered to plenty of strange places before - natural, considering that he works for the store that claims to sell the cheapest second-hand appliances in Tokyo - but there’s something entirely unsettling about this particular address.
He doesn’t even get to the intercom panel when he hears it. Footsteps, and a soft cry, like a child or a distressed cat.
“Hello?”
No answer. A scuffling sound appears to be coming from the side alley by the building.
Nino’s first instinct is to run. He can’t leave without the washing machine, though, and to push it along with him on the rusty trolley will make a hell of a racket. It crosses his mind that someone else might be in danger, but at this point in time he is loath to investigate further.
He stands there for close to a full minute, frozen in fear, hoping madly that whatever it is will go away.
It doesn’t.
Under the dim light of the single street lamp, a figure appears. It is an old man, slightly bent and walking stiffly towards Nino.
“Hi,” says Nino nervously. “Are you all right? I thought I heard something back there.”
The man doesn’t reply. He pauses, regarding Nino with watery eyes.
“Are you all right?” Nino repeats.
The old man smiles.
Something drops down from above them and lands on Nino’s back, pushing him to the ground. A small, ice-cold hand grips hold of the back of his head and shoves down. Before Nino has a chance to cry out, there is a burning pain running from his right shoulder to the middle of his back.
Nino screams.
“Nino-kun. Wake up.” Ohno is shaking Nino’s shoulder gently. “It is only a dream. Nino-kun.”
He opens his eyes. Takes in the familiar clutter of his room; the dim outline of Ohno’s face.
“You are dreaming.”
Ohno’s expression now is very different from what Nino remembers of that night.
That night, Ohno was like an apparition in his kimono and hakama, his face a mask of cold intensity as he cut down the creature that had attacked Nino.
The old man tried to run, after that, in a scuttling half-crawl that was far swifter than Nino expected. A second swordsman - Jun, Nino later realised - intercepted its path. But before Jun could make his move there was a sharp blast of power from the old man, throwing Jun back a number of feet.
And then the old man raised his hands to make a sort of ripping motion in mid-air. While Jun struggled to push himself upright, the old man was somehow hoisting himself into the ring of light that had appeared. First his head vanished, and then his shoulders, and then -
Jun scrambled to his feet and was attempting to follow. He dashed forward, reaching for the old man’s left leg and grabbling hold of it with both hands.
“Stop! Matsumoto! Let it go!”
Jun continued tugging at the leg for a few more moments, but he let go of it just before the rest of it was consumed by the light, which vanished in a flicker. He was left staring at the space where the old man had been.
“He is going to die,” Ohno said urgently, glancing down at Nino.
Jun sheathed his sword. “And an ignoble death, at that.”
Even through the pain, Nino found himself wondering exactly who these nutjobs were.
“Will you… quit with the melodramatics… and call… a fucking ambulance?”
Ohno holds out a glass of water. “Perhaps it is best you do not follow us on our hunts in future.”
“Trust me,” says Nino, taking the water and drinking half of it in one gulp, “I’d rather be home playing Dragon Quest. It’s just that I’m still not sure either of you can actually use a cellphone. Or come up with a decent lie if the police catch up with you.”
“We came up with a decent lie the night we met.”
“No, I told them a mugger had slashed me and that the two of you were extras from a period drama.”
Ohno smiles. “That is true. You are an excellent liar.”
“Thanks. What time is it?”
“Just before dawn.”
“Very helpful. I keep forgetting never to ask you.” With a groan, Nino pushes himself upright to squint at the clock. The glowing red digits read four-thirty; there is still an hour and a half to go. “I’m going back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”
“That is not a problem. I don’t have work today, after all.”
“Yes,” says Nino, burrowing back under the covers. “Rub it in, will you?”
Ryo shakes his head. “Wait. Explain to me how all this works again.”
“Like I said. They’re samurai who have somehow time-travelled to the present day-”
“-and they’re in pursuit of the aliens that decimated their hometown?” Ryo finishes.
“Yes,” says Nino. “Precisely.”
“Well.” Ryo considers this for a moment. “I have to say. That is one seriously fucked up manga plot you have going on.”
“When I told Ohno and Jun about it they found it perfectly plausible.”
“Yes, but Ohno and Jun aren’t exactly what one would call normal, no offence.” Ryo slams the door of the delivery truck shut and lopes round to the front.
Nino trails after him. “So you don’t think it makes any logical sense?”
“This is a shounen manga you’re writing,” says Ryo, climbing into the driver’s seat. “At best it’s meant to make sense in its own context. If time-travelling aliens are the order of the day then you’d better damn well make it convincing.”
“Okay.” Nino shuffles round to the passenger side and slides in.
Ryo frowns. “You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“I never pegged you as the literary sort.”
Sometimes Nino likes to visit the convenience store Jun works at, just to check how he’s doing. It is still strange seeing him operate a cash register, seemingly unfazed by the electrical appliances and machine-made onigiri surrounding him. This is, after all, a man who has lived without the existence of gyoza or curry rice for almost his entire life. Somehow, though, Jun manages to take it all in his stride.
Ryo normally tags along for want of anything better to do. Also, he hasn’t stopped being fascinated by Jun’s unfailing manners and archaic figures of speech.
Jun is wishing an office lady a very good day when they step into the store.
“I can see where you get your inspiration from, actually,” Ryo tells Nino, before wandering over to Jun. “Matsumoto! It’s been a while. Still no new roles, then?”
Nino has got Ryo convinced that Jun and Ohno are very dedicated amateur actors who have been unable to get work due to the recession.
“Nishikido-san,” says Jun, in a tone one would normally use when encountering a strange but amiable stray animal. “I trust you have been well.”
Ryo shrugs. “I suppose. Still kind of broke, though.”
Jun looks mildly puzzled. “Broke?”
“Broke like us,” says Nino with a meaningful look. “Especially since Ohno stopped working.”
“Ah. Lack of money is never pleasant.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” says Ryo, beaming.
“Melon bread?” asks Nino, waving two in front of Ryo’s face.
Jun holds out a hand. “I will ring that up for you, if you like.”
Nino’s not particularly sure what Jun and Ohno did before they met him that night. According to Ohno, they had taken residence under a bridge somewhere, and appeared to have been getting by without money or proper jobs. We only have one occupation, Jun had maintained adamantly.
So do I, and it’s not going to feed all three of us, Nino had replied.
That had settled things quite quickly. Jun was, after all, loath to remain in Nino’s debt. Even if Nino did owe them his life.
“I will not be taking the evening shift tonight,” Jun tells Nino as he hands them the buns in a plastic shopping bag.
“Okay. See you back at the apartment, then.”
“You guys made plans?” asks Ryo as they exit the store.
Nino shrugs. “Very boring ones.”
“More fictional aliens?”
“Something like that.”
That night, Jun heads to a club in Ikebukuro. The lights there are more blinding than those in the club from the night before, fluorescent flashes that get Nino right in the eyes.
“How do you know they’re here?” Nino asks. “How do you always know?”
Jun pauses to secure his coat such that the outline of his swords is concealed. “I do not always know. To a degree, however, I can sense them. So can Ohno. I do not know why.”
Perhaps it comes of having leapt through an alien time-slip portal… thing, Nino reasons. Perhaps it instils a sort of sixth sense for where any aliens might be. He remembers what Ryo said about things having to make logical sense in context.
“Logical, perhaps.”
Jun glances at him. “Logical? This has very little to do with logic.”
Not for the first time, Nino wonders what it must be like, to have one’s entire focus centred on a single goal of revenge. Or perhaps by now it has slipped into something else, like duty. He has not thought to ask.
They are split up almost the moment they enter the club. Nino picks his way through the crowd towards the bar, while Jun disappears from sight.
“I’ve not seen you here before,” someone says.
Nino turns. Under the pulsing lights, the man looks somewhere around his age. Nino can see that he has crinkles around his eyes from smiling too much.
He is beaming now as he looks at Nino. There is just something strangely disarming about it.
“I’m Aiba Masaki.” The man gives a little wave as he says this.
“Hello, Aiba Masaki.”
“And you?”
There is an explosive blast of drumbeats over the speakers just as Aiba says this.
“What?”
“And you? What’s your name?”
“Nishikido Ryo,” says Nino, after a beat.
“Can I call you Ryo-chan?”
Nino shrugs. The music is escalating into a cacophony of machine-gun beeps and vibrating basslines. Any attempt at actual conversation is more or less futile.
“Are you going to get a drink?” Aiba shouts. “Not very chatty, are you?”
By way of explanation, Nino points at his ears and gestures vaguely at the speakers, shrugging again.
Aiba nods in comprehension. Or at least that’s what Nino thinks it is. He is proven wrong when Aiba merely leans in closer and yells, “I’M NEW HERE, ACTUALLY.”
“Oh?” Nino mouths, before turning away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jun weaving through the crowd and heading towards him. Jun’s expression is grim, one hand already straying beneath his coat to rest on the hilt of his sword.
Nino follows Jun’s gaze to see who his target is. His eyes land on Aiba.
Oh. It has happened only once before, at one of those cosplay parties. Nino had started chatting with a guy dressed up as Kurono Kei, who had later talked him into heading out for drinks. On hindsight, it had been a pretty ironic moment when Ohno had taken out the alien, suit and all.
“-AND SHO-KUN - that’s the friend I was telling you about just now - TOLD ME THIS WAS A GOOD CLUB TO VISIT-”
“Hey, Aiba-san. Aiba.”
“-AND IT’S BEEN- what?”
Nino jerks his head towards the exit. “Let’s head out to talk, shall we? I only heard about half of what you’ve been telling me.”
“What?”
“I SAID, LET’S HEAD OUT.”
Aiba nods obliviously, evidently glad to have a captive audience as they head towards the exit. Nino does not look round to check if Jun is following. It is not the first time he has acted as bait.
“I know a place with cheap drinks,” Nino tells Aiba as they leave the club. “It’s also pretty quiet. But first I’ve got to take a piss.”
“There? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Needs must.” Nino turns off into a narrow alleyway behind the building - an easy target, Aiba must be thinking. An easier target for Jun, then.
“I’ll look elsewhere,” Aiba says cheerfully, trailing after Nino.
“Yeah, whatever.” Nino reaches for the fly of his trousers, turning his body slightly away and silently 'willing Jun to arrive.
“Ryo-chan,” says Aiba uncertainly. “Ryo-chan. I think there’s someone here.”
“Well spotted,” says Jun, appearing at the entrance of the alleyway. There is an unnerving stillness about him as he regards Aiba impassively. “You have a choice, creature. To fight, or to run. Either way, you will die.”
Aiba turns to look at Nino. “Ryo-chan?”
Nino shakes his head. “Not such a good club to visit, after all.”
There is a metallic chink as Jun nudges his katana out of its sheath with his thumb. Nino already knows what to expect. The headlong dash, the felling of Jun’s opponent in one fluid move.
But Jun does not take the step. He is instead staring fixedly at something just past Aiba.
There is another man there, and he is aiming a gun directly at Nino.
“I made a pretty good recommendation, don’t you think, Aiba-kun?” asks the man. “We found what we wanted on the first try.” He is wearing a pleased little half-smile, which might have been quite a pleasant one if not for the fact that he is also holding Nino at gunpoint. There is a smugness about him, from the steady manner in which he holds his gun to the complacent expression on his face.
Nino has only just met him, but this man is getting on his nerves.
“It might sound quite hypocritical of me,” the man continues, “but you probably shouldn’t use your friends as bait.”
“Unhand him.”
“Which year of the Tokugawa period did you come from, I wonder?”
Jun’s scowl deepens. “I said unhand him, coward.”
“Be nice, Sho-kun,” says Aiba. “I don’t think samurai-san is going to answer any of your questions at this rate.”
“I assure you,” says the man called Sho, “there will be no unhanding of any sort until you answer some of my questions-”
Ohno’s blade is at Sho’s neck before he can even finish his sentence.
In that same moment Jun pulls his katana from his sheath, forcing Aiba to the ground.
“So there’s another one of you,” says Sho. He is startlingly calm, considering the circumstances.
“Tell me,” says Jun. “What exactly are you?”
Ohno twists the gun out of Sho’s hand. “This one is not a creature.”
Neither of them look like aliens, Nino realises. There is, however, black liquid trickling from where Jun’s blade has grazed Aiba’s skin.
“Like you,” says Aiba, “we’re not exactly from here, either.”
The reason for their calmness is soon clear. Even as Aiba is speaking, a low buzzing sound is gradually building around all of them.
Jun presses his katana against Aiba’s neck. “What foul trick is this?”
Aiba smiles. The buzzing sound has turned into a deafening hum. “I expect we’ll meet again, samurai-san.”
With a zip like a flame going out, Aiba and Sho vanish entirely.
End
2nd A/N: Every time I type the word 'katana' I cringe so much, lol. This is the sort of story that might probably spawn a bunch of sequels and turn into a ~hugeass fic~ watch this space. ;__;
Characters: Arashi
Rating: R for gore?
Summary: Alien-hunting, time-travelling samurai AU. No, really. Ohno has fully embraced the concept of tracksuits; Nino suspects that only Jun’s disapproval stops him from wearing them out in public as well. That, and the fact that his swords don’t hold up very well on tracksuit bottoms.
Word Count: ~3,700
A/N: Written for hwlinyitw, for the fandom fundraiser on arashi_on. She asked for a Gantz AU; I told her I hadn't watched Gantz and asked for another prompt. And then one night many months later I did watch Gantz, and... this happened. Thank you for your generous donation, hwlinyitw! I'm sorry this is so late, and only roughly inspired by Gantz and... bizarre. I hope you enjoy it anyway? ♥ Also, many thanks to g_esquared and calerine for not laughing at me when I told them about this premise.
This happens, like most other stories of its kind, on a moonless night.
They say that nights like this are nights when people slip through the cracks. When shadows grow and overwhelm, and something strange and dangerous fills the air. On nights like these, people do one of two things. Most withdraw into well-lit homes and wait out the night, unwilling to risk that indefinable fear.
Others counter that foreboding with shadows of their own.
Nino hates clubs like this one. There are too many bodies in too little space, pressed in close and writhing proximity. The music is far too loud, the amplified sound of some man shouting in unintelligible English over electronic bleeps and a pounding bass. Most of all, Nino hates that the booze is so damn expensive.
“I will return soon enough,” Jun promises, slipping off into the crowd.
Nino nods, and sticks close to the wall. Ohno is nowhere to be seen tonight.
He’s used to this by now, although he’s not quite sure why he still goes along with it. The favour he owes Jun and Ohno has long been repaid, by anyone’s reckoning. He’s certainly not in it for the scene.
Jun thrives on this. Nino’s never actually seen him dancing, but he manages to slink through the seething mass of people with ease.
Today someone will be consumed. By the lifestyle; the booze and the drugs, people will say. Nino knows better. There is a predator out in the crowd tonight, somewhere under the blinding strobes, navigating its way through the driving beat and the intermittent shadows. Nino knows this because Jun knows this. It is in places like this that people become prey.
Well, unless Jun gets there first.
There is a lull in the music; the racket blasting from the speakers goes quiet but for a few claps and a bass rhythm.
Someone cries out - a muffled shout; silenced.
The back door is pushed open and slams shut on its own. The music starts up again. Most nights, Nino stays where he is, waiting for Jun to return like he’s promised. Strangely, though, there is a nagging feeling of uncertainty tonight, a tiny what-if that Nino doesn’t feel like ignoring.
He follows.
Nino bolts towards the door, pushing his way out into the dank alleyway. Jun is standing there, facing the -
It is not a person. It might have looked like a person back in the club, but there is something grotesque about its features under the harsh fluorescence of a single lamp. Something about the way the flesh sags just that little bit, like it doesn’t fit right. Like the creature has taken a person and attempted somehow to wear it.
This one is small, Nino notes. There should be no problems.
Jun reaches for the katana sheathed at his hip.
“Come on. You have got nowhere to run.” Jun’s is the voice of a man utterly convinced of this truth.
This creature has nowhere to run.
It tries, anyway. Foolishly, stumblingly, at some speed, it tries to scale the side of the wall. It’s fast.
Jun is faster.
It’s like in one of those samurai dramas Nino used to watch as a boy, where the samurai dashes past his opponent and for a moment it seems like nothing has happened.
The creature is completely still for a second, frozen in the middle of its bid to escape. Then something like mild surprise crosses its ratlike face.
A spurt of black liquid bursts from its torso and flies in an arc to spatter against the surrounding walls. And then, sickeningly slowly, the entire top half of the creature’s body slides off from its waist and lands on the ground with a thud.
Nino finds his voice. “Fuck.”
Jun smiles grimly. “You could have waited.”
“Fuck,” says Nino again. He’s seen this a dozen times at least, but it never gets any less visceral.
“Come on,” says Jun. “I am hungry.”
Ohno is waiting for them when they get back to Nino’s place. Ever since Nino taught him how to turn on electrical appliances, he’s got either the television or radio on all the time. Nino knows he doesn’t even pay attention to it. But Ohno earns enough inking panels for a famous mangaka, so Nino doesn’t complain too much about electricity bills.
Today, Ohno is cleaning some gunk off his grey sweatshirt while in the background AKB48 chirp about falling in love.
“Easy kill?” asks Jun, removing his shoes and entering the one-room apartment. He may have picked up many new habits during his time in the twenty-first century, but that dignified way of sitting and standing still remains.
“You could say so.” Ohno plunges his sweatshirt into the sink of water. “Messy, though.”
“I can see that,” says Nino, kicking off his own shoes and flopping down on the floor with much less decorum than Jun. “There’s beer in the fridge and frozen onigiri in the freezer if either of you want it.”
Jun, in particular, is always ravenous after a kill. Nino reckons it’s the adrenaline rush, the incredible speed and strength he has to muster in pursuit of these creatures. Then again, both Jun and Ohno have been raised to be warriors. That fatal slice just now perhaps encapsulates everything that defines Jun.
“I would kill for some sake right now,” says Jun, yawning.
“Well, you’ve just got to do without,” Nino replies grumpily. “I’m going to bed.”
Laying out the futons is always a bit of a production in Nino’s cramped apartment; low tables need to be pushed aside and gaming consoles stowed. It is a wonder the three of them even fit.
Ohno finishes hanging up his sweatshirt and comes over to help, while Jun disappears off into the bathroom.
“No work tomorrow?” asks Nino.
“Sensei is taking a long break. Her dog died. I borrowed one of your tracksuits.”
Ohno has fully embraced the concept of tracksuits; Nino suspects that only Jun’s disapproval stops him from wearing them out in public as well. That, and the fact that his swords don’t hold up very well on tracksuit bottoms.
“I don’t think I’ve worn that since university,” Nino says, shrugging. “You can have it.”
Ohno bows. “Thank you, Nino-kun.” It has taken Ohno more than half a year to drop the honorifics when speaking with Nino.
“Not a problem.” He yawns, widely and protractedly, before crawling under the comforter. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“You haven’t brushed your teeth.”
“Fuck that,” Nino mumbles, and drops off before he can continue.
He is dimly aware of Jun emerging from the bathroom and standing over him for a while, speaking tersely with Ohno. Jun works the early morning shift at a nearby convenience store; he probably has his uniform on already. Someone - maybe Jun - reaches over to pull the comforter up to cover Nino’s shoulders.
“Rest well.”
Nino dreams of monsters.
Specifically, he dreams of that night.
He is delivering a washing machine again, a late order left over from the afternoon that he has to get done. Ryo’s already ditched him to go gadding with the girls from the main office.
The building looks deserted, and shouldn’t creep Nino out as much as it does. He’s delivered to plenty of strange places before - natural, considering that he works for the store that claims to sell the cheapest second-hand appliances in Tokyo - but there’s something entirely unsettling about this particular address.
He doesn’t even get to the intercom panel when he hears it. Footsteps, and a soft cry, like a child or a distressed cat.
“Hello?”
No answer. A scuffling sound appears to be coming from the side alley by the building.
Nino’s first instinct is to run. He can’t leave without the washing machine, though, and to push it along with him on the rusty trolley will make a hell of a racket. It crosses his mind that someone else might be in danger, but at this point in time he is loath to investigate further.
He stands there for close to a full minute, frozen in fear, hoping madly that whatever it is will go away.
It doesn’t.
Under the dim light of the single street lamp, a figure appears. It is an old man, slightly bent and walking stiffly towards Nino.
“Hi,” says Nino nervously. “Are you all right? I thought I heard something back there.”
The man doesn’t reply. He pauses, regarding Nino with watery eyes.
“Are you all right?” Nino repeats.
The old man smiles.
Something drops down from above them and lands on Nino’s back, pushing him to the ground. A small, ice-cold hand grips hold of the back of his head and shoves down. Before Nino has a chance to cry out, there is a burning pain running from his right shoulder to the middle of his back.
Nino screams.
“Nino-kun. Wake up.” Ohno is shaking Nino’s shoulder gently. “It is only a dream. Nino-kun.”
He opens his eyes. Takes in the familiar clutter of his room; the dim outline of Ohno’s face.
“You are dreaming.”
Ohno’s expression now is very different from what Nino remembers of that night.
That night, Ohno was like an apparition in his kimono and hakama, his face a mask of cold intensity as he cut down the creature that had attacked Nino.
The old man tried to run, after that, in a scuttling half-crawl that was far swifter than Nino expected. A second swordsman - Jun, Nino later realised - intercepted its path. But before Jun could make his move there was a sharp blast of power from the old man, throwing Jun back a number of feet.
And then the old man raised his hands to make a sort of ripping motion in mid-air. While Jun struggled to push himself upright, the old man was somehow hoisting himself into the ring of light that had appeared. First his head vanished, and then his shoulders, and then -
Jun scrambled to his feet and was attempting to follow. He dashed forward, reaching for the old man’s left leg and grabbling hold of it with both hands.
“Stop! Matsumoto! Let it go!”
Jun continued tugging at the leg for a few more moments, but he let go of it just before the rest of it was consumed by the light, which vanished in a flicker. He was left staring at the space where the old man had been.
“He is going to die,” Ohno said urgently, glancing down at Nino.
Jun sheathed his sword. “And an ignoble death, at that.”
Even through the pain, Nino found himself wondering exactly who these nutjobs were.
“Will you… quit with the melodramatics… and call… a fucking ambulance?”
Ohno holds out a glass of water. “Perhaps it is best you do not follow us on our hunts in future.”
“Trust me,” says Nino, taking the water and drinking half of it in one gulp, “I’d rather be home playing Dragon Quest. It’s just that I’m still not sure either of you can actually use a cellphone. Or come up with a decent lie if the police catch up with you.”
“We came up with a decent lie the night we met.”
“No, I told them a mugger had slashed me and that the two of you were extras from a period drama.”
Ohno smiles. “That is true. You are an excellent liar.”
“Thanks. What time is it?”
“Just before dawn.”
“Very helpful. I keep forgetting never to ask you.” With a groan, Nino pushes himself upright to squint at the clock. The glowing red digits read four-thirty; there is still an hour and a half to go. “I’m going back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”
“That is not a problem. I don’t have work today, after all.”
“Yes,” says Nino, burrowing back under the covers. “Rub it in, will you?”
Ryo shakes his head. “Wait. Explain to me how all this works again.”
“Like I said. They’re samurai who have somehow time-travelled to the present day-”
“-and they’re in pursuit of the aliens that decimated their hometown?” Ryo finishes.
“Yes,” says Nino. “Precisely.”
“Well.” Ryo considers this for a moment. “I have to say. That is one seriously fucked up manga plot you have going on.”
“When I told Ohno and Jun about it they found it perfectly plausible.”
“Yes, but Ohno and Jun aren’t exactly what one would call normal, no offence.” Ryo slams the door of the delivery truck shut and lopes round to the front.
Nino trails after him. “So you don’t think it makes any logical sense?”
“This is a shounen manga you’re writing,” says Ryo, climbing into the driver’s seat. “At best it’s meant to make sense in its own context. If time-travelling aliens are the order of the day then you’d better damn well make it convincing.”
“Okay.” Nino shuffles round to the passenger side and slides in.
Ryo frowns. “You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“I never pegged you as the literary sort.”
Sometimes Nino likes to visit the convenience store Jun works at, just to check how he’s doing. It is still strange seeing him operate a cash register, seemingly unfazed by the electrical appliances and machine-made onigiri surrounding him. This is, after all, a man who has lived without the existence of gyoza or curry rice for almost his entire life. Somehow, though, Jun manages to take it all in his stride.
Ryo normally tags along for want of anything better to do. Also, he hasn’t stopped being fascinated by Jun’s unfailing manners and archaic figures of speech.
Jun is wishing an office lady a very good day when they step into the store.
“I can see where you get your inspiration from, actually,” Ryo tells Nino, before wandering over to Jun. “Matsumoto! It’s been a while. Still no new roles, then?”
Nino has got Ryo convinced that Jun and Ohno are very dedicated amateur actors who have been unable to get work due to the recession.
“Nishikido-san,” says Jun, in a tone one would normally use when encountering a strange but amiable stray animal. “I trust you have been well.”
Ryo shrugs. “I suppose. Still kind of broke, though.”
Jun looks mildly puzzled. “Broke?”
“Broke like us,” says Nino with a meaningful look. “Especially since Ohno stopped working.”
“Ah. Lack of money is never pleasant.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” says Ryo, beaming.
“Melon bread?” asks Nino, waving two in front of Ryo’s face.
Jun holds out a hand. “I will ring that up for you, if you like.”
Nino’s not particularly sure what Jun and Ohno did before they met him that night. According to Ohno, they had taken residence under a bridge somewhere, and appeared to have been getting by without money or proper jobs. We only have one occupation, Jun had maintained adamantly.
So do I, and it’s not going to feed all three of us, Nino had replied.
That had settled things quite quickly. Jun was, after all, loath to remain in Nino’s debt. Even if Nino did owe them his life.
“I will not be taking the evening shift tonight,” Jun tells Nino as he hands them the buns in a plastic shopping bag.
“Okay. See you back at the apartment, then.”
“You guys made plans?” asks Ryo as they exit the store.
Nino shrugs. “Very boring ones.”
“More fictional aliens?”
“Something like that.”
That night, Jun heads to a club in Ikebukuro. The lights there are more blinding than those in the club from the night before, fluorescent flashes that get Nino right in the eyes.
“How do you know they’re here?” Nino asks. “How do you always know?”
Jun pauses to secure his coat such that the outline of his swords is concealed. “I do not always know. To a degree, however, I can sense them. So can Ohno. I do not know why.”
Perhaps it comes of having leapt through an alien time-slip portal… thing, Nino reasons. Perhaps it instils a sort of sixth sense for where any aliens might be. He remembers what Ryo said about things having to make logical sense in context.
“Logical, perhaps.”
Jun glances at him. “Logical? This has very little to do with logic.”
Not for the first time, Nino wonders what it must be like, to have one’s entire focus centred on a single goal of revenge. Or perhaps by now it has slipped into something else, like duty. He has not thought to ask.
They are split up almost the moment they enter the club. Nino picks his way through the crowd towards the bar, while Jun disappears from sight.
“I’ve not seen you here before,” someone says.
Nino turns. Under the pulsing lights, the man looks somewhere around his age. Nino can see that he has crinkles around his eyes from smiling too much.
He is beaming now as he looks at Nino. There is just something strangely disarming about it.
“I’m Aiba Masaki.” The man gives a little wave as he says this.
“Hello, Aiba Masaki.”
“And you?”
There is an explosive blast of drumbeats over the speakers just as Aiba says this.
“What?”
“And you? What’s your name?”
“Nishikido Ryo,” says Nino, after a beat.
“Can I call you Ryo-chan?”
Nino shrugs. The music is escalating into a cacophony of machine-gun beeps and vibrating basslines. Any attempt at actual conversation is more or less futile.
“Are you going to get a drink?” Aiba shouts. “Not very chatty, are you?”
By way of explanation, Nino points at his ears and gestures vaguely at the speakers, shrugging again.
Aiba nods in comprehension. Or at least that’s what Nino thinks it is. He is proven wrong when Aiba merely leans in closer and yells, “I’M NEW HERE, ACTUALLY.”
“Oh?” Nino mouths, before turning away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jun weaving through the crowd and heading towards him. Jun’s expression is grim, one hand already straying beneath his coat to rest on the hilt of his sword.
Nino follows Jun’s gaze to see who his target is. His eyes land on Aiba.
Oh. It has happened only once before, at one of those cosplay parties. Nino had started chatting with a guy dressed up as Kurono Kei, who had later talked him into heading out for drinks. On hindsight, it had been a pretty ironic moment when Ohno had taken out the alien, suit and all.
“-AND SHO-KUN - that’s the friend I was telling you about just now - TOLD ME THIS WAS A GOOD CLUB TO VISIT-”
“Hey, Aiba-san. Aiba.”
“-AND IT’S BEEN- what?”
Nino jerks his head towards the exit. “Let’s head out to talk, shall we? I only heard about half of what you’ve been telling me.”
“What?”
“I SAID, LET’S HEAD OUT.”
Aiba nods obliviously, evidently glad to have a captive audience as they head towards the exit. Nino does not look round to check if Jun is following. It is not the first time he has acted as bait.
“I know a place with cheap drinks,” Nino tells Aiba as they leave the club. “It’s also pretty quiet. But first I’ve got to take a piss.”
“There? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Needs must.” Nino turns off into a narrow alleyway behind the building - an easy target, Aiba must be thinking. An easier target for Jun, then.
“I’ll look elsewhere,” Aiba says cheerfully, trailing after Nino.
“Yeah, whatever.” Nino reaches for the fly of his trousers, turning his body slightly away and silently 'willing Jun to arrive.
“Ryo-chan,” says Aiba uncertainly. “Ryo-chan. I think there’s someone here.”
“Well spotted,” says Jun, appearing at the entrance of the alleyway. There is an unnerving stillness about him as he regards Aiba impassively. “You have a choice, creature. To fight, or to run. Either way, you will die.”
Aiba turns to look at Nino. “Ryo-chan?”
Nino shakes his head. “Not such a good club to visit, after all.”
There is a metallic chink as Jun nudges his katana out of its sheath with his thumb. Nino already knows what to expect. The headlong dash, the felling of Jun’s opponent in one fluid move.
But Jun does not take the step. He is instead staring fixedly at something just past Aiba.
There is another man there, and he is aiming a gun directly at Nino.
“I made a pretty good recommendation, don’t you think, Aiba-kun?” asks the man. “We found what we wanted on the first try.” He is wearing a pleased little half-smile, which might have been quite a pleasant one if not for the fact that he is also holding Nino at gunpoint. There is a smugness about him, from the steady manner in which he holds his gun to the complacent expression on his face.
Nino has only just met him, but this man is getting on his nerves.
“It might sound quite hypocritical of me,” the man continues, “but you probably shouldn’t use your friends as bait.”
“Unhand him.”
“Which year of the Tokugawa period did you come from, I wonder?”
Jun’s scowl deepens. “I said unhand him, coward.”
“Be nice, Sho-kun,” says Aiba. “I don’t think samurai-san is going to answer any of your questions at this rate.”
“I assure you,” says the man called Sho, “there will be no unhanding of any sort until you answer some of my questions-”
Ohno’s blade is at Sho’s neck before he can even finish his sentence.
In that same moment Jun pulls his katana from his sheath, forcing Aiba to the ground.
“So there’s another one of you,” says Sho. He is startlingly calm, considering the circumstances.
“Tell me,” says Jun. “What exactly are you?”
Ohno twists the gun out of Sho’s hand. “This one is not a creature.”
Neither of them look like aliens, Nino realises. There is, however, black liquid trickling from where Jun’s blade has grazed Aiba’s skin.
“Like you,” says Aiba, “we’re not exactly from here, either.”
The reason for their calmness is soon clear. Even as Aiba is speaking, a low buzzing sound is gradually building around all of them.
Jun presses his katana against Aiba’s neck. “What foul trick is this?”
Aiba smiles. The buzzing sound has turned into a deafening hum. “I expect we’ll meet again, samurai-san.”
With a zip like a flame going out, Aiba and Sho vanish entirely.
End
2nd A/N: Every time I type the word 'katana' I cringe so much, lol. This is the sort of story that might probably spawn a bunch of sequels and turn into a ~hugeass fic~ watch this space. ;__;