Hi, my name's Dee. No, not short for anything. Hope it's a pleasure to meet you! || Mixed blog, mainly writing. Mostly filled with Kuroko no Basuke/other animes and my fics. ^^ >AO3 http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaios >FFnet (unused in favour of AO3) https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4661780/
oH MY I AM G O N E holy crap I didn’t-- I DID NOT EXPECT THIS OH MY AOSAOLIGMKIDLGM THANK YOU SO MUCH “like it” MORE LIKE I LOVE IT ; n ;;;;
their expressions!!!! THE COLOURS AND THE EYES AND THAT L I G H T I N G OH MY it’s so beautiful ;____; and the theme I am justaoierlkjgdgf
I cannot this is so lovely you’re so lovely help me I LOVE YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA this is amazing!!!!
God you’re too good to me ughghghghghh this is such a sexy drawing thANK YOU I’m just going to save this immediately and continue my assignment with renewed vigour now THANK YOU SO MUCH MOONIE AGHHH ♥♥♥♥ you’re too sweet!!!! ; w ; I’M DEFINITELY GONNA BE FINISHING THAT FIC OKAY LOL
FUCK I AM DEAD PAIGE YOU HAVE KILLED ME
I legitimately gasped and all okay I'm in the car with my parents on the way home and I just--
(My mother looked at me and was like what???? WHAT HAPPENED)
DUDE
BRO
BR O
B R O!!!!!!!!!!!
HE'S-- I-- I THINK I'M TEARING UP YOU'VE DRAWN HIM SO BEAUTIFULLY LOOK AT ALL THAT-- ALL THOSE COLOURS AND THAT B E A U T Y EVEN THOUGH YOU AREN'T EVEN IN THE FANDOM aAAAAHHHHHH ; m ; THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU SOBS
I'M TOO OVERJOYED AT THIS ; A ; it hurts
T HANK YOU SO MICHSNSJCJCHFJNDMUCH AAAGGGJGJHGHGH EVEN THOUGH I'M A DAY LATE TO LOOK AT MY OWN BIRTHDAY PRESENT I'M SO HAPPY CRIES you just made my day 6666666666% better okay thank you sO MUCH I love you ; ^ ; (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) ♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎
"It's raining," Taiga voices aloud, watching droplets slide down stained glass as he gazes out the window. "Hey, Kuroko didn't tell you where he was going, did he?"
"Nah."
"...Isn't it about time you told me?"
"Hah? What're you on about?"
"Don't play dumb, stupid," Taiga's brows furrow, "it's obvious that you've already got it figured out."
"...You--" Daiki stares at him, horrified, "you can actually tell?! ...Oi, if you think too much, you'll get a fever."
"You bastard, you're the last person I want to hear that from. Actually, don't change the subject."
"Tsk."
"Oi, you just clicked your tongue, didn't you?!"
"Who knows," Daiki drawls as he flops back, head landing unabashedly on Taiga's lap. "I'm sleepy. Gonna sleep."
"Wha-- hey, that's unfair!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...Hey, are you actually asleep?"
"..."
Sighing, Taiga tries to make himself comfortable without disturbing Daiki. The moment he shifts his leg slightly to the right, however, his boyfriend speaks, startling him.
"Tetsu... He's chasing after him again."
"...Huh?"
"You were there when he was saying it," Daiki points out, "your brother."
"Tatsuya?"
"...He said the death god, remember?"
"The death god..." Taiga pauses. The second it hits him, his breath catches in his throat. "...?! Oi, you don't mean--"
"Yeah."
Daiki stares up at the ceiling, eyes blank. Vacant.
It takes a few moments before Taiga can speak again. Daiki isn't surprised when his brows furrow down in anger.
"Why didn't you stop him?!"
Without responding, he rolls over, off of his boyfriend's lap. He sighs.
"Did you know? They first met when we were in high school."
"...What?"
Daiki catches a glimpse of Taiga's face, confused and genuinely worried, and feels something painful in his chest. He closes his eyes.
"Has Tetsu told you the reason he became a detective?"
"No."
"Then, I shouldn't be the one telling you. But..."
When Daiki opens his eyes again, he finally turns to face Taiga.
"...Tetsu probably predicted this would happen."
***
"..."
He doesn't want to move, he doesn't want to see, he doesn't want to think--
But he has to.
So, he pushes Seijuurou away with all his might. The latter doesn't react -- he simply watches as Tetsuya scrambles off the bed, over to the photo frame on the floor with the bag of brown sugar candy beside it.
He recognises it now.
No matter how much he wants to forget, he can remember it so clearly now.
"Want some, Kuro-- I mean, Tetsuya?"
"Um, you don't really have to use my first name--"
"But I want to."
He can remember his older brother's smiling face. He can remember how tall and brave he was, and how much he cared--
"How..."
"I'm so glad," Seijuurou whispers, but all Tetsuya hears is his brother's voice, "that Tetsuya's safe. You can do whatever you want to me, but I don't want you to hurt him."
"What--"
"Those were your brother's last words."
Tetsuya can barely hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat. He turns around, fists clenched as he stands, sky-blue locks falling forward to shadow his features. Seijuurou exhales, smile widening.
'Yes; that's how it should be, Tetsuya. It wouldn't be any fun if you weren't like this.'
"What did you do?"
"..."
"Please tell me. I can't--"
"--'forgive you', is it?"
"..."
"Tell me, Tetsuya." Seijuurou stands, stepping closer. "What do you want to do? Do you intend to kill me? To have me pay for my crimes?"
"No, I'm going to--"
"--take me in? I'm starting to get bored of that charade."
Tetsuya barely has any time to move before he finds Seijuurou standing directly in front of him. Again, his chin is lifted with a single finger, and he's powerless to resist.
(He can't stand it.)
The second Seijuurou opens his mouth to speak again, however, the door slams open. He turns, miffed at being interrupted, but stoic all the same. Tetsuya, on the other hand, freezes up.
Chihiro is standing at the entrance, out of breath, cheeks flushed.
"...You bastard... The fuck did you do... to me...?!"
Seijuurou raises an unimpressed brow. "I drugged you, of course."
"Get your hands... off of him..."
"Oh?"
A shadow flits across his face at the command. His shoulders relax, as if he's about to let go of Tetsuya and walk over--
--only for Tetsuya himself to grab onto him before he can move. Seijuurou's eyes widen, and so do Chihiro's. At the soft tug on his jacket, Seijuurou steps aside as he moves forward.
"Mayuzumi-san... This problem is between us two. You don't have to worry about it."
"...I wasn't--"
"Thank you very much." Tetsuya smiles.
Smiles.
Chihiro practically stops breathing at the sheer power of his angelic smile--
"Chihiro, go back to the room. You shouldn't move around in that state."
"Thanks to you," the assassin spits, shooting a glare at Seijuurou.
"If you want to stay to hear our conversation, I do not mind. However," he pauses, "Tetsuya might."
It's a sly move, and Chihiro falls for it hook, line and sinker.
He doesn't even pause to gauge Tetsuya's reaction -- he simply mutters a "whatever" under his breath before turning on his heel. The door closes behind him.
Once he steps outside, he feels himself veering forward, but he barely catches himself a mere millisecond away from collapsing to the ground. Trying to catch his breath, he grits his teeth in frustration.
He didn't look back at Tetsuya -- he hadn't wanted to look back at him.
Not because he was still angry: he isn't one to let that cloud his judgement, much. But rather, because without checking, he'd already known--
--that the boy would have a gentle, melancholy look on his face that'd practically scream "please understand".
Either that, or he'd have had no expression at all.
(Chihiro isn't sure which one he'd prefer.)
Dragging himself back to the room, he resists the urge to slam his fist into the wall.
He's always been able to tell when he isn't wanted, after all.
***
"..."
A well-masked hint of concern. Seijuurou's lip twitches in dissatisfaction.
"Chihiro won't die. Though..." he mock-hums in thought, "I do wonder, have you become attached already?"
"...No."
His eyes narrow at the emptiness in Tetsuya's voice. In a split-second, he knocks the smaller boy back, pushing him straight back onto the bed. Tetsuya can't move -- can't move, he's never been able to move against him -- as Seijuurou crawls right above him, hands curling around his wrists.
How the man can manage to still look so predatory and regal whilst crawling, he doesn't know.
"Was it fun, Tetsuya?"
"...?"
It's hard to look unaffected when he's being pinned to a bed by the most lethal assassin the world has ever known.
"Why don't I have you tell me exactly what Chihiro did to you?"
Seijuurou shifts his knee further up between Tetsuya's legs, but he doesn't have to touch him for the detective to catch on instantly.
He swallows.
"Why don't I have you tell me exactly what you did to Teppei-onii-chan?" Tetsuya shoots straight back. Amusement dances in Seijuurou's mismatching eyes.
"Do you really want to know?"
Tetsuya can feel his nails digging into his own palms, but he doesn't care. Seijuurou lets go of one of his wrists to brush a stray, powder-blue lock behind his ear. When he speaks, Tetsuya can barely hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat.
"It would be better for you to stop your pointless charade already, Tetsuya."
Before his brows can even furrow in confusion, Seijuurou leans in, so close that Tetsuya can feel his breath on his own lips, mellow and hot.
"Won't you stop me?"
"..."
He doesn't have a reply, and Seijuurou's gaze darkens, sharp and borderline sinister.
Tetsuya sucks in a breath.
He leans up, and he feels the assassin's smile more than he sees it.
(He hates it, he hates himself for giving in, what is he doing--?)
He can feel a hand trailing beneath his shirt, leaving feather-light touches across his sides, his chest--
"Nn--!"
Hearing Seijuurou's low chuckle after he scraped a nail ever-so-softly across his nipple is already almost too much for him -- and even more so when he feels his fingers ghost across his boxers. Seijuurou hadn't given him anything to wear other than a loose shirt and undergarments in the first place; similar to what he'd been donning previously.
Feeling Seijuurou's hand run up his thighs, Tetsuya's body tenses--
--and then, teasingly, he moves away. Instead, he begins to unbutton the detective's shirt, leaving it splayed open.
(When did it begin?)
He can't tear his eyes away when Seijuurou shrugs off his jacket, loosening his own tie with a single hand. He undoes his belt with practiced ease.
(How did it get to this point?)
Tetsuya can't stop the whimper, the tremors that shake his own form when he can feel so vividly his teeth and his tongue against his own neck, biting hard enough to break the skin--
("I can't remember")
He's all too aware of where this is going. Despite it being the first time, his body is pliant, without a single hint of resistance.
He hates it, he hates it--
--and he hates the pure bliss that he derives from this more than anything.
...
He hates himself more than anything.
(He has lied to himself, over and over, until--)
Tetsuya yelps when Seijuurou's hand dips down beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his painfully hard cock. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to stop himself from making noise, but when it doesn't work, he covers his mouth with his hand. Seijuurou tuts.
"Let me hear more, Tetsuya."
"...!"
He withdraws his hand, and Tetsuya can barely hold back a whine. It's entirely uncharacteristic of him, but--
--he can't stop.
(And he can't forgive himself.)
Seijuurou's hands disappear out of sight for a few moments, but Tetsuya can hear the telltale pop of something opening. He doesn't have time to evaluate it -- he doesn't require time to evaluate it -- before the redhead captures his lips in his own, tongue sliding into his mouth smoothly.
Tetsuya practically melts into the kiss; he doesn't notice his eyes closing until they open again as Seijuurou pulls away, leaving the both of them breathless. Tetsuya's cheeks are flushed, and he's surprised to see that Seijuurou's are dusted pink; barely visible, but evident nonetheless. Then, the taller male leans in again, swallowing Tetsuya's soft whimpers and mewls. Each time they part, he can see a thin, thin string of saliva still connecting their tongues before they intertwine once more.
When Tetsuya finally leans up to meet Seijuurou's lips halfway, he can feel the latter's smirk against his mouth--
--and he despises it.
Not because he knows that it's just another sign that he's falling deeper into the demon's trap -- no, it's because he can't stop himself from thinking that, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this, for just a little while longer.
It is nothing short of the deadliest poison.
(But he's known that for so long -- that being involved with Akashi Seijuurou is akin to allowing the most lethal venoms to soak into his own mind, his own blood, his own being.)
And yet, he can't stop himself. He can't stop his hips from canting upwards when Seijuurou makes to pull his boxers down, he can't stop the precum that drips from his dick when he feels those long fingers skim across it, making his breath hitch--
He can't stop himself from jolting when he feels something cold and slick press against his entrance. His eyes go wide, and his body freezes up.
...
...Why?
'Why are you looking at me like that?'
...
He can't stop the tears of frustration, pleasure and fear that well up in his eyes when he sees Seijuurou's expression, so gentle, so reassuring, so loving, so foreign--
But as always, he can recognise something darker lurking beneath his tame surface.
And that--
It reassures him.
Because there's nothing more twisted nor terrifying than this man, this killer that he's always known.
Seijuurou kisses Tetsuya again, tender and so, so wrong.
"I'll be gentle."
True to his word, he massages his hole softly around the edges, taking his time. Only when Tetsuya is completely relaxed does Seijuurou slip a finger in, rubbing his insides slowly--
"Tell me, did Chihiro fuck you here? How was it?"
He almost recoils at the question. It is spoken with a light, indifferent tone, but Tetsuya knows better than that.
He swallows.
"...He didn't do it."
Seijuurou's movements still for a second before he curls his finger directly onto Tetsuya's prostate, drawing out a loud moan from the male. Seijuurou’s eyes are lidded as he gazes down at his form, exposed and susceptible, lips curling up.
"Oh?"
It doesn't take a genius to notice how pleased he is. He adds another digit, fingering open Tetsuya's ass with ease. Then, he literally digs into the bundle of nerves in a single, fluid motion, and Tetsuya opens his mouth in a soundless scream, eyes squeezing shut. He yelps, countless moans spilling from his lips as Seijuurou repeats the motion over and over, when did he add a third finger--
And right before he cums, the redhead stops, eyes glinting maliciously.
This time, Tetsuya can't hold back his whine.
Smirking, Seijuurou sits back, pulling the shorter male up with him. Seated directly on his lap, straddling him, Tetsuya is nothing but compliant in his arms as he seizes his lips in another heated kiss. Barely aware of his own actions, Tetsuya moves to grind against his leg in an attempt to get some friction, anything--
--but Seijuurou holds his hips still, chuckling.
"If you want to cum, you’ll have to work for it, Tetsuya."
He doesn't have to voice the exact words for Tetsuya to know exactly what he wants. Trembling a little, he forces himself off of Seijuurou's thighs, moving to kneel down on the floor.
(He hates it, he hates it, he hates it--)
"..."
"Your answer?"
Seijuurou's amber eye seems to glow as he gazes down at Tetsuya, and the latter cannot do anything but obey.
"...Yes, Seijuurou."
"Good boy."
It's disgusting how easy it is for Seijuurou to control him. It's disgusting, he thinks, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he opens his mouth.
Seijuurou exhales when Tetsuya wraps his lips around his member; small, calloused hands tentatively squeezing what he can't reach; tongue swirling across his tip...
"Tetsuya."
He says his name lowly, almost like a growl. It shoots straight to Tetsuya's arousal, and he looks up, vision slightly blurred. With saliva dripping down his chin, his disheveled locks framing his slender cheeks that are full with Seijuurou's cock...
He looks like an absolute mess.
And Seijuurou just wants to break him, make a wreck out of him even more.
"Are you so weak to pleasure that you'd be fine with giving yourself to the man who killed your own brother, Tetsuya?"
Eyes widening, pain flashing across his features--
'That's right.'
This is what he wants -- has always wanted to see. Each and every time they met at his crime scenes...
...It was never enough. But this--
--this is what he'd been waiting for.
His.
Tetsuya is his.
All of his pain, his sorrow, his ire--
--Seijuurou will take it and swallow it all until he has nothing left. He'll weave his darkness and his shadows through the phantom's bones and the gaps between his fingers, his ribs, his lungs, until Tetsuya can't do anything without him anymore.
Before he can protest, Seijuurou presses a hand against the nape of Tetsuya's neck and thrusts straight into the back of his throat.
Choking, eyes watering on impact, Tetsuya begins to cough, and Seijuurou pulls out.
It hurts -- it burns, and it distracts him enough that he doesn't resist when Seijuurou lifts him back onto the bed. The redhead bites his collarbone several times, leaving more marks, marring his flawless, pale skin--
--but even then, despite how overwhelmed he feels, nothing can divert his attention away from the pressure he feels against his entrance.
Already loosened up, lube still leaking from his ass... Seijuurou takes a moment to appreciate the view before thrusting in. He bottoms out in a single go, and Tetsuya cries out.
(He hasn't heard anything sweeter.)
"Ah... Hah, S-Seijuurou--"
It isn't enough.
More, more, more--
Seijuurou won't be satisfied until he has more.
So he hoists Tetsuya's legs higher, and they wrap around his upper back without question.
If he were a lesser man, he'd be entirely drunk, intoxicated on his own power. Instead, his lips merely curl up, eyes narrowed, features shadowed in an ominously, felicitous manner as he thrusts in again. The new position allows him to abuse Tetsuya's prostate easily -- the boy is doing all he can to muffle his own screams with the back of his hand.
That won't do.
"Look at you, Tetsuya," he murmurs darkly, seductively, "so willing, so easy. Are you so content with spreading your legs for those powerful in the underworld?"
His words are meaninglessly sharp -- they both know they aren't true.
And still, they stab into Tetsuya. Teeth gritted, he glares up at the taller male.
(He can't get enough of the phantom's defiant gaze, blazing with countless emotions he'd take hours to name.)
"Y-you're one to-- ngh! Hah-- ah, t-talk-- mm, ah--!"
Tetsuya's voice is still so clear over the sloppy, wet squelches, the sounds of skin slapping on skin.
(Seijuurou wonders why no matter how much of a commotion there is in any situation, it all seems to filter out to white noise when Tetsuya speaks.)
He lets out a breathy laugh as he continues thrusting. He can feel Tetsuya's insides squeeze and clench around his cock, a deliciously mouth-watering sensation--
He wants to kill all of Tetsuya's senses, all of his thoughts until the only thing he can register is Seijuurou, and Seijuurou's name.
"Mm-- I-- I'm close--"
He leans in until his lips are right beside the boy's ear.
"Come for me, Tetsuya."
It's too much.
Tetsuya cums with a muffled moan, the pure euphoria from his climax only heightened by the sensation of Seijuurou's release flowing into him. Exhaling shakily, he waits for the other to pull out--
--?
"Eh--?"
Seijuurou does, indeed, pull out. However, the instant he does so, he flips Tetsuya over so that he lies on his stomach, cheek pressed against the bedsheets--
--and then he thrusts straight in again, half-hard. Oversensitive, Tetsuya lets out a choked noise.
"S-Seijuurou, wai-- ah!"
Without giving him a single second to rest, Seijuurou's dick slides out to the tip once more, rubbing his insides excruciatingly slowly. Eyes hooded, he runs his fingers across Tetsuya's aching cock, still raw and delicate from his orgasm. He begins to pump slowly, speeding up with each twist of his wrist. The moment he feels the shorter male suck in a breath, he slams straight into his prostate, and Tetsuya downright sobs.
It's a broken sound, and it sends heat pooling straight to his groin.
He lets out a low groan, and Tetsuya is a mess of strangled whimpers and whines as he feels Seijuurou enter him, over and over and over and over--
He can feel Seijuurou's cum seep out of him with each thrust, overflowing onto the bedsheets--
It's too much.
His member is hardening again, and he can't do anything but writhe in an irresistible mixture of pleasure and pain as Seijuurou fucks into him relentlessly. The room is filled with nothing but their moans, heavy pants and, of course, the erotic sounds of pure sex.
And right as Tetsuya feels himself swell, on the verge of orgasm--
Seijuurou's hand constricts around the base of his cock. He swallows back a whimper and looks up, brows furrowed, and he is met with nothing but sadistic cruelty and satisfaction in those mismatching eyes he's never been able to deny.
"Not until I say so," Seijuurou purrs, smile wicked as he pounds into his prostate. When he cums inside Tetsuya a second time, he pulls out, fingers making their way inside in lieu of his member. Tetsuya is an incoherent mess, with nothing but Seijuurou's name on his lips as the male takes him again and again, until all he can feel, all he can think about is his cock sliding back in, back out--
{ When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy. Then, send to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously. You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity! 🌼 }
1. ALL MY SHIPS (SAVE ME)
2. Food….
3. Dogs
4. Japanese + Geology at uni :)
5. @transientutopia YOUR APOSTASY FIC RIGHT NOW IS KILLING ME IT’S SO GOOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH ♥
give this heart to everyone u dont want to lose in 2017 ! be honest and send this to anyone who made u smile this year 🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫❤💥🌟💫🌟💫❤💥🌟💫
'You don't have to say it, asshole -- I already... know...'
He can't feel, or see anything anymore. The last thing he remembers is the soft, derisive chuckle that rings through his ears, the same way it did eight years ago.
~~
"...a ... tsuya... Tetsuya."
"...?"
'I know... that voice.'
"Tetsuya."
It's a voice as rich as velvet, silky, smooth, but more than anything...
...It's as sweet as poison.
He remembers this voice.
He remembers--
...
From where?
...
"Why are you--"
"Can't you tell from looking? Hey, Tetsuya...
...he's already broken, you know?"
...
...
...
It's raining.
"It's raining, huh," Kuroko Tetsuya notes aloud, gazing out through stained glass.
"Well, I guess I won't have any jobs," Kagami Taiga shrugs. "Hope you don't, either."
"That's raising a death flag, Kagami-kun."
"Shut up. There's no way--"
He cuts himself off as Tetsuya's phone goes off. Raising a brow, Taiga watches as Tetsuya reaches into his pocket.
The second he pulls his phone out and sees the display, he blinks, expression blank.
"It's Aomine-kun."
"Oh," Taiga blinks. He'd invited Daiki over to his house along with Tetsuya, of course -- but the policeman had been abruptly called in for duty, forcing him to reluctantly decline. Glancing over his shoulder, Taiga peers at the clock.
It's sixteen past three in the afternoon.
'It shouldn't be his break yet,' Taiga thinks, feeling his stomach drop. He whips back around to face Tetsuya, but evidently, the detective had caught on the moment his phone rang. Taiga swallows.
"...I see. We'll be right over," Tetsuya voices before ending the call. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he stands up, and Taiga does the same.
"What's the situation? Arson?"
"No," Tetsuya shakes his head. "Murder."
Tetsuya opens his eyes, blinking blearily.
...He isn't in Chihiro's safehouse anymore -- that much is obvious. Intriguingly, he isn't bound up: instead, he can feel silken sheets surrounding him.
It's so comfortable that he knows in an instant -- something is terribly wrong.
Shooting upright, Tetsuya's vision blurs, and he feels himself slip--
--only to be supported gently by a hand that lays him back against something hard -- the bedframe.
"You shouldn't move so suddenly," a familiar voice admonishes, laced with amusement, "you were knocked out just a few hours ago. You also injured your own forehead."
The voice sighs almost fondly, and the warm sound sends a chill right down Tetsuya's spine.
"Provoking and fighting an assassin... You really do never fail to exceed my expectations, Tetsuya."
He doesn't have to look up to know he's being watched with those same eyes--
--those icy, cold eyes that pierce; have always pierced, since so long ago; through him mercilessly, relentlessly, those eyes that know all--
Tetsuya lifts his head, and he drowns in a sea of crimson and amber.
"Murder?" Taiga repeats, eyes wide. "Shit, did someone get burned alive or something?"
"..."
Taiga's jaw drops.
"Hold on, I was joking--"
"Yes."
"...What?"
He almost doesn't want to hear the answer that comes next.
"The death god has made his move, Kagami-kun."
"Shinigami-san," the name falls from Tetsuya's lips before he can stop himself. The "death god" only laughs that same, beguiling, charming laugh that Tetsuya remembers more vividly than anything.
(He really wishes he doesn't.)
"How many times have I told you to call me by my name, Tetsuya? Or could it be... Have you forgotten it already?"
He says the words as if they're a question, but they both know he isn't asking anything. After all, his name hasn't left Tetsuya's mind for a single moment over the years.
"...Akashi Seijuurou-san."
Seijuurou's smirk combined with his hooded eyes are a dangerous, dangerous weapon.
"Death god," Taiga echoes incredulously. "His last victim was literally three days ago -- what the hell's going on with that guy?"
"That's my job to find out," Tetsuya murmurs, gaze hardening. Taiga sees his expression from the corner of his eye, and gulps.
"...Hey, Kuroko."
"What is it, Kagami-kun? We have to hurry and get moving. Aomine-kun is waiting. Or..." he tilts his head innocently, "...could it be, you're having a lover's quarrel? What a horrid person you are, not divulging such information to me, your best friend."
"W-w-wha-- no! It's not like that, idiot!"
Taiga flushes red as he pulls on his jacket.
"Why are you here?"
"Shouldn't that be my question, Tetsuya?" Seijuurou steps closer to the bed once more. He presses his knees onto the bed sheets as he leans in, lifting Tetsuya's chin with a single hand. "Tell me -- why did you choose to come here?"
He knows the answer. He always does, but he wants to hear it from Tetsuya directly.
Despite how light-headed he is, the conviction in the detective's gaze does not waver.
"I came to apprehend you. You and Mayuzumi-san both."
"Did you?" Seijuurou chuckles. "Willingly walking in here yourself... Were you waiting for that chance these past few years?"
"Were you?"
Tetsuya surprises himself with his own boldness, and Seijuurou is visibly perplexed for a moment, too. Then, his eyes narrow and his lips curl upwards.
"Yes," he says as his hand moves to caress Tetsuya's cheek, "I've been waiting for a long time."
When they arrive on the scene, there is nobody other than members of the police force.
"No witnesses nor suspects again," Tetsuya notes softly. Taiga glances at him, concerned, but he doesn't get a chance to read the boy's expression before a familiar arm slings around his shoulder.
"Yo, Kagami. Tetsu."
"Aomine!"
"Aomine-kun." Tetsuya acknowledges, eyes locked onto the crime scene, "I'm going to investigate."
"Ah-- er, yeah, thanks."
Daiki watches warily as Tetsuya walks over to another detective on the case. As usual, he goes unnoticed until he places a hand on the male's back, scaring the living life out of him. Taiga snorts, but his mirth fades when he turns to face his boyfriend.
"Aomine--"
"Yeah, I know. Tetsu's really obsessed with that guy, isn't he?"
"Obsessed, you say... I don't think it's that big of a deal yet," Taiga refutes, but the argument sounds weak, even to his own ears. Daiki doesn't look at him when he speaks, gaze fixed onto their best friend's back.
"...It'd be good if it weren't."
"Akashi-san," Tetsuya tries. Seijuurou shakes his head.
"Do you intend to nullify our agreement from last time, Tetsuya?"
"...Seijuurou."
"It would be better for you to rest right now," he says in lieu of answering, "your body has not recovered yet."
Seijuurou lets go of Tetsuya and moves off the bed, but before he can make it out the door, Tetsuya speaks.
"Please wait, Aka-- Seijuurou."
"What is it?"
"...Where is Mayuzumi-san?"
Seijuurou's mouth twists upwards to form a smile that shows nothing.
"He, too, is resting in another room. His injuries have not healed, after all."
"..."
The door shuts smoothly behind him as he leaves, and Tetsuya's fingers tighten in the silken sheets splayed around his body.
He can't do anything but watch Seijuurou go.
But worst of all--
--he can't even point out his obvious routes of escape when they both know:
that there's no way he'll take a single step towards them.
"I have to go," Tetsuya says, but Daiki does not move out of his way, and Taiga does not let his shoulder go.
"You can't, Tetsu. Wait for reinforcements -- or, take us with you."
"That won't work," he says, shaking his head. "He's always ten steps ahead of us. If I don't go after him now, we won't stand a chance in catching him."
"How do you know he's going to be there?"
"I know," Tetsuya's nails dig into his fists. His eyes flit back to the crime scene briefly, and Daiki catches on immediately.
"He left something for you, didn't he," the policeman says, and Tetsuya does not flinch. Taiga's eyes widen as the boy nods.
"That doesn't make a reason for why we can't go," Taiga argues, and Tetsuya bites his lip, brows furrowing in a rare display of frustration.
"I have to go alone--"
"Did he say that to you?"
"No," Tetsuya's eyes are downcast, "but this is my job. Aomine-kun and Kagami-kun... I can't--"
"Don't give me that 'I can't get you two involved' shit, Tetsu." Daiki growls, "I'm not letting you go to this guy by yourself."
"Are you saying that as a policeman, or as my best friend?"
The uncharacteristically harsh words spill from Tetsuya's lips before he can think, and he freezes. Daiki's features contort in anguish.
"I'm saying it as both, Tetsu."
He lowers his head, and Tetsuya inhales sharply. Taiga tenses up, mouth agape as Daiki bows.
"...Please. Don't do something so reckless."
"..."
Tetsuya takes a step forward, hands reaching out to cup Daiki's face. He lifts his head, meeting the phantom's gaze.
He's never seen the warmth and resolve in those deep, blue eyes glow so strongly.
"Aomine-kun," Tetsuya begins softly, "thank you very much. But, I have to go. I'll be fine. I know I will."
"..."
"Well, if Kuroko's that confident," Taiga traps both of them in headlocks, ignoring their muffled protests, "then we'll have to give him the good part this time, huh?"
Daiki stops struggling and heaves a sigh. Stepping back, they both ruffle Tetsuya's hair in sync, earning a small huff from the boy. Taiga laughs at his powder-blue locks that have successfully turned into an absolute mess of spikes, and Daiki snickers.
When he looks up at the pair, Tetsuya doesn't bother to hide the smile playing at his lips.
Blood. The unmistakably thick, stifling scent of blood is palpable in the air, even through the heavy rain. Tetsuya heads towards it, already tugging a vinyl glove onto his right hand. He pulls out his phone with his left.
Like an intentional trail, there is blood splattered across the asphalt, splatters that only increase the closer he gets to whoever -- whatever is waiting.
...
...When he finds it, he can barely perceive it as a former human.
There isn’t a single inch of the ground that isn’t painted red. He can’t tell whether the corpse was a female, or a male. It’s closer to “a mess of carved flesh and innards” than a tangible body at this point.
He swallows.
It's gruesome -- he can hardly bear to look at it. Closing his eyes, Tetsuya breathes in -- he can only smell blood, blood, blood, it's so strong he can practically taste it -- and dials a number on his phone.
"Tetsu?"
"He got us," Tetsuya says immediately, "I'm sending you the address right now."
"...Alright. Be careful."
Nimble fingers gliding across the keyboard, Tetsuya forwards his current location to both Daiki and Taiga, and then turns away.
He pauses.
Eyes narrowing, he walks back and kneels down, pressing his gloved fingers to the bloodied concrete.
"I swear I'll definitely find you."
"...!"
The moment Tetsuya reaches for the dying man on the floor, he hears a click. Eyes widening, he jumps back--
--and watches as he goes up in flames.
Tetsuya wants to scream, he can't breathe, he can hear the man's screeches as the fire licks up his arms, his clothes, his wounds, the rain isn’t helping--
"Another miss, huh."
He freezes up entirely as an arm wraps around his waist. A hand presses softly against his eyes, but he doesn't have to look to be able to know who's behind him. With his back pressed against his chest, Tetsuya swallows.
"You didn't make it on time, Tetsuya," Seijuurou's voice purrs beside his ear, "didn't I tell you before? If you don't make haste, it'll be over before you realise it."
"...Yes."
He can feel Seijuurou's smile without seeing it.
"Hey, Tetsuya. Shall we make a bet?"
"...?"
"If I win, you have to call me by my first name."
He lets go of Tetsuya, who turns to face him, eyes ablaze as always -- no matter how shaken he is. He can feel the corners of his lips tug upwards of their own volition.
He's always loved those eyes.
Chuckling, he holds his right hand out, palm upwards, fingers slightly curled. Tetsuya's gaze flicks down to it for a moment, and Seijuurou's smile widens.
"If you win, you can take me in."
"Fucking... bastard...!"
"Kagami Taiga," Seijuurou murmurs, leaning down. Taiga is glaring up at him, grimacing from where he lies on the floor. He can't see anything in Seijuurou's eyes: there is nothing but ice and void.
"My orders are absolute. If I tell you to fall, you will fall. Know your place."
"Shut... the fuck... up! I'll kill you..."
"Oh?" Seijuurou glances at the scissors stabbed through Taiga's hands, pinning him to the ground. "You should consider yourself lucky that Tetsuya does not wish for your death. Otherwise..."
"...You asshole, as if that's-- the reason why you're--"
"Yes," Seijuurou slams the heel of his shoe down onto Taiga's fingers callously. He gazes down with bored indifference when a scream rips from Taiga’s throat, as if he were watching vermin crawling across filth. "The reason I am not killing you is simple -- it's because you're still usable."
"...! You--"
"...Kagami-kun?"
He's lost count of how many times he's seen Seijuurou.
Always, always chasing--
Yet he hasn't caught him even once.
Tetsuya wakes up with a single arm outstretched, palm facing up as he reaches towards the ceiling. The blankets have been rearranged so that he nestles in them softly; but that isn't all.
His fingers are laced with someone else's. Squinting open his eyes, he can make out a clouded shape that is undeniably Akashi Seijuurou.
"Good morning, Tetsuya."
"...Good morning."
Seijuurou does not make a move to let go of Tetsuya's hand, so he doesn't, either. He lets their linked hands fall back by his side, though, and Seijuurou peers over at him as he attempts to blink his sleepiness away.
"What were you dreaming about?"
"You," Tetsuya answers without a beat of hesitation. He watches as Seijuurou's eyes widen imperceptibly, and he feels a small sense of satisfaction bloom at the sight. "I was dreaming of the past."
"Oh?" Seijuurou leans in, "Is that why your arm suddenly shot out, then? I was startled."
"Startled," Tetsuya echoes, because he can't imagine Seijuurou jolting in shock at anything.
"Yes, startled," he chuckles, "you grabbed onto me without warning, after all."
"...I apologise."
"No, it's fine."
Seijuurou squeezes his hand, an unusually tender gesture that throws Tetsuya off balance.
"If you hadn't done so, I wouldn't have been able to do this, after all."
"...There was nothing stopping you from doing it either way."
"Is that an invitation?"
"No," he says, staring at Seijuurou straight in the eyes, "but you always act selfishly."
A smile spreads across the redhead's lips.
"Hey, Tetsuya. Don't you think it's about time?"
"...?"
"You should remember by now."
"What are you--"
"Isn't that right?"
Seijuurou shifts ever-so-slightly, the bed dipping as he moves. It grants Tetsuya the ideal vision to what lies in the corner of the room, and--
--everything stops.
"Tetsuya, there's someone new we'd like you to meet. He's going to be-- y-- o-- er... ...pleasure to--"
"I'm-- ...! Niceto-- meet--?"
--where did you--
"I-I--"
"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT, TETSUYA-- --se..--! ...isn't-- I'll--... ... ..."
"..."
...
...
...?!
...go... Let him-- go-- ... !
It isn't-- supposed --?
When he finally looks up, he's alone.
Alone.
...
...
...?
Was there someone here with him before?
"Hey, Kuroko! Hows-- --? --hasn't-- been in a whiile--"
"...?"
Eventually, nobody speaks of it anymore.
Tetsuya has always been alone.
...Alone?
There's something different about this head. It has mahogany-hued locks that frame it almost pristinely. Its eye sockets have been cleaned, almost meticulously, where the eyes have been ripped out. The mouth is agape, the cheeks are sunken, and there are a few cuts across them that have, also, been cleaned. There is a gash beneath the bottom right cheek, along the jaw. There is no longer any blood leaking from it, as if it has all been drained. Similarly, the sever has been done in a spotless, precise manner: it's as if there wasn't a neck nor body to begin with.
It is jarring, even more so with how real it seems. How alive it looks.
"No," Tetsuya breathes, because this isn't how it was supposed to go--
With his palms pressed tightly one on top of the other, pushing back against his lips, Tetsuya's eyes are wide as he forces himself to lean in.
...
His legs won't move.
"Tetsuya, I brought some candy home! Let's eat it together!"
"Yes!"
"No," he repeats, tightening his grip around Seijuurou's fingers, whose lips curl upwards. His heterochromatic eyes widen with pure elation, and all Tetsuya can feel from him is a twisted mixture of delight, love and a bottomless pit of malice--
"Oh dear, Tetsuya, where you with -- ... --again? It's great to see you boys having fun-- ..."
"Yes"--?
where are-- you--?
wheredi d he go--
Masculine. About twenty-five or so years of age, if he were to estimate. Standard, Japanese features. He prods at the jaw.
...
There's something inside.
It's been... Sewn to the roof of the mouth, he realises as he feels the intricate stitching. Whoever did this has been downright meticulous in their handling of their victim.
...
...
...
It's a candy wrapper.
He's seen the candy a handful of times before, advertised around busy cities in Tokyo. He can't remember it that vividly.
Noting it down mentally, he places the head back down, and peers inside the compartment once more.
"No--"
Tetsuya tries to back away, but his body won't move the way he wants it to. He ends up pushing himself directly onto Seijuurou, who catches him without question, silent as the detective trembles in his arms.
"You-- why do you--"
Why do you have that?
The words won't come out of his mouth, but he doesn't want them to, either--
"How long has it been since you last saw that picture? Hmm... Eleven years, was it?"
"Why--"
"Hey," Seijuurou whispers, lips on the nape of Tetsuya's neck as he pulls his small body, so limp and so docile, closer, "you couldn't recognise it at all, could you--"
****Please be gentle, because it’s my first time ♥
Read on AO3 (highly recommended)
~~
He knows his own limits. He's recognised them to the point that it's painful for him.
"You want someone dead," he drawls, "but you're too helpless to do anything on your own."
How ironic.
~~
An entire week has lapsed, and Tetsuya still hasn't left.
Nor has Chihiro kicked him out.
God knows why.
In this time, Tetsuya has discovered every secret to Chihiro's self-proclaimed hideout.
One: revising his initial impression, it is extremely luxurious, and Chihiro refuses to tell him why. There is a hidden trapdoor -- evidently, assassins must like trapdoors -- that leads down to an open space, where there is working water, electricity and even a proper food supply.
Two: he has a lot of light novels. A lot of light novels. Tetsuya isn't sure he's ever seen this many in one location before. It rivals the shelves of those in the large Animate stores back in Tokyo.
Three: the suspected pitfall is actually a pitfall. When Tetsuya shines light in on it, he can see a few skeletons at the bottom. Chihiro argues that they fell in by themselves and that he has nothing to do with them, although he has ransacked all their belongings. He does not tell Tetsuya how he got all the way down, nor how he got back up.
Four: Chihiro has to be seriously lacking in friends and any sort of social contact for him to not have thrown Tetsuya outside yet. All the latter is doing is using his precious resources without any compensation. And his bed. They're sharing a bed.
Soon enough, something is bound to happen. Chihiro hasn't taken any jobs in the past week, and it isn't like Tetsuya would let him get away unscathed if he were to -- albeit, not that the assassin particularly cares.
Tetsuya is only waiting. Akin to a ticking time bomb that they both know will go off sooner or later, he will come.
"He's been waiting for you all this time."
"Mayuzumi-san, may I use the bath?"
"Hell no."
"Thank you very much," Tetsuya says with his back turned, hands already on the trapdoor.
"Oi!"
Chihiro groans. He's fallen so deep, it's like he doesn't know how to get back up anymore. If someone had told him a week earlier that he'd end up housing a cute detective who barely even reaches his shoulder, he would have laughed and slit their throat (he wouldn't have, it goes against his standards), probably.
How things got here, he isn't sure.
No--
--he knows exactly how.
By housing Tetsuya, he's only really delaying the inevitable. He can't harm him, which rules out a lot of things that would make his life easier: namely, killing the said male.
They both know it's only a matter of time for Seijuurou to arrive.
You could always just leave, a voice in the back of Chihiro's mind says. Leave him here and go off by yourself. You've had so many chances to do it. When his back was turned, when he was fast asleep... Even now, as he soaks himself in your bath.
But his pride won't let him.
At the same time, he isn't stupid. He's not a dreamer -- he's realistic. He's pragmatic in his decisions, and above all, he honours the senses that he's honed through years and years of being in the business.
He can't win.
He knows that more than anybody -- there's no way he can win against Akashi Seijuurou, the rumoured "strongest of the underworld". It's like waging war on the King himself -- guaranteed death.
So why doesn't he move?
He doesn't have any attachment to this place -- no matter how opulent it is in a city like this, riches mean nothing if the owner is dead.
He knows that more than anybody.
Better than anybody.
"I came to apprehend the both of you."
"What an idiot," Chihiro laughs sharply. "You won't be able to do shit."
"It isn't polite to talk about people behind their backs."
Realising his mistake far too late, Chihiro lets out a string of curses as he falls backwards, slamming onto the ground. The chair makes a sound of splintering wood.
Well, fuck.
Tetsuya stares at him, jaw agape in shock. Chihiro stares back, equally shocked. He hasn't done something so clumsy in over ten years.
...
And then, Tetsuya laughs.
He bursts into pure, unadulterated giggles; then full-blown laughter, as Chihiro gawks at him.
(It definitely isn't because he's smiling beautifully-- freely, for the first time, either.)
Still on the floor, Chihiro realises something.
Tetsuya's hair -- it isn't black.
"You-- your hair--"
"This?" Tetsuya tugs at a lock of his own hair absentmindedly, "I realised that there isn't any point anymore."
"Your natural hair colour is light blue?"
He raises a brow as if to say, "Your natural hair colour is light grey?" but Chihiro is too preoccupied attempting to take in the bizarre sight before him.
'How the hell did he even wash out the black so easily?'
As if hearing his thoughts, Tetsuya holds up a small bottle. Chihiro recognises it as a certain, liquid solution made several years back that eradicates all traces of hair dye immediately on application -- it had spread across the globe like wildfire.
"Oh," he says eloquently. Then, his gaze travels downwards, and his mind goes entirely blank.
Tetsuya is wearing his clothes.
"Ah," he looks down at himself innocently, as if he hadn't just destroyed several sections of Chihiro's brain, "I took the liberty of borrowing some clothes, as mine ended up getting stained slightly. It'll only be for today, is that okay?"
Since the beginning of his stay, Tetsuya had been washing his clothes minimally, making sure to keep up his façade as a citizen of the city: there was no doubt it had been discomforting for him to stay in such an outfit for days on end. He had done so without any complaints, but now, Chihiro wishes he had lent him his clothes earlier. It isn't as if Tetsuya goes outside at the moment, anyway.
...Or, alternatively, he wishes he could erase the sight from his mind altogether.
(He really doesn't.)
Swallowing dryly, Chihiro allows his eyes to wander even further down, regretting it instantly.
The air in this city is polluted, and humid, though not too hot -- it has always been like that.
'I've never been more grateful-- I mean, spiteful towards it. Right.'
He's extremely "spiteful" for a good reason.
After all, Tetsuya isn't wearing pants.
To be more accurate, the boy is donning nothing but an oversized, white, button-up shirt with sleeves that have been folded up several times to his wrists ... And a pair of boxer shorts that have been tied to stop them from falling.
Chihiro swallows again.
It was already evident before, but even more so now: Tetsuya's skin has an alabaster, milky, smooth paleness to it that extends from the tips of his toes to his forehead. He looks as if he's never gotten a sunburn, much less a tan, in his entire life. His body is slim, lithe and toned. His cheeks are slightly flushed, too, and his locks have small droplets of water dripping from them that fall to his bare expanse of collarbone before slipping out of sight beneath his shirt. Chihiro's floor has always been freakishly spotless, and Tetsuya has evidently taken advantage of that fact, opting to go barefoot.
He's close to killing himself. He wants to kill himself, when the very essence of his job is to kill other people.
'Fuck,' Chihiro thinks repeatedly.
Remembering that he still hasn't gotten up yet, he quickly rises and reaches for the chair. Before he grasps it, however, he stills, and then strides over to the couch.
Inwardly, he praises his mind for recalling the crack in the chair's frame in time. The last thing he wants to do now is to embarrass himself even further.
...Though, he isn't sure what's more humiliating than his own dick going erect at the sight of someone who is, supposedly, his "enemy", dressed in an oversized shirt, that specifically belongs to Chihiro himself.
He's never going to see that shirt the same way. He makes a mental note to burn it once Tetsuya leaves.
Raising a brow, the detective pointedly looks towards the table, and then to the taller man.
"...Do you want to continue reading? I apologise for scaring you."
'You aren't sorry at all, you bastard.'
When Tetsuya's lips tug upwards, Chihiro realises that he spoke aloud.
"I apologise," he repeats, eyes still sparkling with mischief.
And fuck if that doesn't turn Chihiro on even more.
Tetsuya, the damn cause of everything that has begun to turn the renowned assassin's world upside-down -- has he mentioned that he kills people for a living but can't even deny a cute boy over a head shorter than him anything -- walks over to the abandoned desk.
Then, he fucking bends down.
He bends down and picks up Chihiro's light novel from the floor. He dusts it off lightly and then puts it back on the table.
Fuck.
Judging by his barely-visible, sly smile, he knows exactly what he's doing.
'Well screw you, too,' Chihiro seethes.
Two can play this game.
Footsteps entirely silent, he traipses over. Tetsuya's back is still turned, and naturally, Chihiro takes the chance to lean over. He places his palms on the table, arms on both sides of the shorter male, essentially trapping him in.
He's so close that he can feel Tetsuya tense up without even looking.
"Thanks," he purrs, head dipped down so his lips are right beside Tetsuya's ear, "for picking it up."
"...!"
Tetsuya inhales sharply.
Then, he makes the biggest mistake--
--he turns around, still cornered between Chihiro's toned, muscular arms.
Their gazes clash in a mix of cobalt blue and dark grey, both widening simultaneously.
It's as if time stills in that moment.
Everything fades out to white noise behind them.
And then--
--Tetsuya's tongue darts out to lick his lips, and that's it.
That's it.
Chihiro breaks the standstill first. He dives in, mouth locking onto Tetsuya's, taking advantage of his small, muffled gasp -- god, it turns him on -- to thrust his tongue inside. Tetsuya's hands come up instinctively to push back on his chest, fingers clenching around the material of his shirt -- albeit, not reluctantly. Whether it's a conscious gesture or not, Chihiro doesn't know, but Tetsuya pulls him closer, harder--
--and then he jerks back a little, breaking free, completely out of breath. Panting, saliva dripping down his jaw, Tetsuya is a mess.
He's never looked more attractive.
Chihiro licks his lips almost mockingly, tauntingly. He swipes his thumb across his own, bottom lip, and then presses it against Tetsuya's.
"Thanks for the meal."
The phantom's cheeks flush even more, and even the tips of his ears go visibly red. It's the cutest thing Chihiro has ever seen, and he feels his own face grow warmer, too.
"U-um--"
Before Tetsuya can continue, Chihiro kisses him again, pushing him back against the edge of the table as he does so, almost as if he's trying to block off his escape. Tetsuya kisses him back with little resistance, and Chihiro allows him no more than a second to catch his breath each time they break apart.
"Nn...!"
Chihiro can feel all the blood rush straight down to his groin at the sudden moan. Tetsuya's eyes widen, but he doesn't have time to feel embarrassed before he's reminded of the reason he let out the noise in the first place.
Chihiro is pressing up against him.
The sensation isn't anywhere near as jarring as it could be, if they were both unclothed: but through the thin, flimsy material of his boxers -- Chihiro's boxers -- Tetsuya can feel the obvious bulge in the taller man's trousers. It's pushed onto his own, and he knows Chihiro can feel him, too.
Before he can even think about saying anything, Tetsuya catches his heated gaze, and it's all the warning he gets before the assassin slips a hand inside.
"Ah--!"
Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes, and Tetsuya squeezes them shut. He trembles beneath Chihiro's skilled hands, only growing hotter, harder, wetter -- and when Chihiro thumbs at the head of his cock, he gasps, eliciting a low chuckle from the man. It takes everything inside him to stop the sounds that spill from his lips. The abrupt feel of a hand on his forces his eyes open a little, and Tetsuya can barely make out Chihiro's form through his tear-blurred vision. He blinks, feeling them slide down his cheeks.
"Let me hear you."
Lacing their fingers together, Chihiro doesn't hold back on his torturous movements with his other hand. He leans in, biting Tetsuya's collarbone softly, successfully drawing out a loud moan from the boy's lips -- it's sweeter than music to his ears. Smirking, he brushes against the tip of Tetsuya's member with light, fleeting movements, and the boy whines.
'Fuck it,' Chihiro thinks, hoisting Tetsuya up by the ass. He picks him up, throwing him onto his bed unceremoniously. Tetsuya doesn't get the chance to complain before a tongue slides between his lips, hot and intrusive. Chihiro is pushing him down against the bed, and almost like a reflex, he lifts his hips up to press their arousals together--
The groan that falls from Chihiro's mouth doesn't sound human.
Exploiting the moment Tetsuya lifts himself off the bed, Chihiro reaches down to untie and pull his boxer shorts off roughly. Swallowing the shorter boy's moans, he begins to unbutton his own shirt -- and somehow, he manages to undo his belt, kicking off his pants without giving into his growing urge to rip them off instead. When he slides his dick, slick with precum, between Tetsuya's legs, the latter stiffens, freezing up. Chihiro pauses, licking into his mouth a final time before pulling back.
"Don't worry," he murmurs lowly -- he can barely recognise his own voice, "I'm just going to stay between your thighs. Could you tighten up for me?"
"N-nngh... O-okay," Tetsuya moans. With a touch of hesitance, he lifts his legs up to rest around Chihiro's waist before squeezing his thighs together softly.
It feels like pure bliss to Chihiro, who lets out a low, guttural growl.
And then, he moves.
Body jolting instantly, Tetsuya becomes hyper-aware of their positions: with his back on the bed, his ass lifted and his legs wrapped around Chihiro's waist, he's definitely giving him an eyeful--
--but it feels so good that he can't bring himself to care.
Chihiro, on the other hand, is towering over Tetsuya, hands laced together with his as he thrusts between his thighs. With each push and pull back, his cock rubs against Tetsuya's dick and, occasionally, his balls, causing a delicious friction that sends pleasant shivers down Tetsuya's spine with each movement. There's no doubt that Chihiro shares that sentiment -- he's so hard that it borders on painful. Speeding up his thrusts, the only sounds that echo through the large room are his bed's creaks; the sloppy, wet, erotic squelches of their members rubbing together, practically dripping with precum; and of course: their moans.
Feeling his climax draw near, Chihiro looks down at Tetsuya's face. He has his eyes closed in euphoria, his mouth open as he whimpers, a trail of saliva on his jaw, tears tracking down his cheeks--
It isn't enough.
He wants more.
More.
More.
Formerly blank eyes glinting maliciously, Chihiro's hand dives down to wrap around both of their cocks without a single word of forewarning. Tetsuya's eyes shoot open, and his voice chokes up in his throat. Whilst he's distracted, Chihiro shifts a little and bites straight down on the creamy expanse of his neck, piercing it almost immediately. He licks up the blood, and Tetsuya sobs out his name--
It's all Chihiro has to hear to cum.
Pumping the both of them with one hand, he scrapes his nails lightly against Tetsuya's cock, and the boy is gone. They make a mess of both themselves and the bedsheets, but to Chihiro, it's entirely worth it.
Thoroughly spent, Tetsuya collapses. He doesn't even have the energy to curl up on the bed at the moment -- not that he particularly wants to, considering he's covered in both his own cum and Chihiro's. He barely notices when the latter leaves the bed and comes back with a wet towel to wipe him off, along with fresh pairs of boxers.
"Thank you... very much."
"No problem."
He doesn't realise when he passes out until he wakes up.
***
"Mm..."
When Tetsuya opens his eyes, he's met with Chihiro's handsome, plain features gazing back at him. He blinks.
"Good morning."
"Good morning," Chihiro echoes, lips quirking up sardonically. "Had a good rest, huh, Sleeping Beauty?"
Ignoring the logical voice at the back of his head, Tetsuya shoots back, "Thanks to you."
Chihiro raises a brow at the boy's audacity, but, well, they did just have sex. Even if it was just intercrural. He smirks, propping himself up on one elbow.
"You brought that on yourself."
Tetsuya opens his mouth to argue, blushes, and closes it. It's adorable to the point that it's unfair, and Chihiro swallows down the urge to cover his face. He's pretty sure he's blushing, too. Luckily, Tetsuya has his eyes averted.
(Unfortunately, his embarrassed expression is also another shot to Chihiro's heart.)
"Y-you played a part in it, too," Tetsuya says, refusing to meet his eyes, "every time you just..."
Trailing off, Tetsuya rolls over so that his back is facing Chihiro, who is more than slightly confused.
"What do you--"
Oh.
Oh.
'"Every time you just", huh?' Chihiro smirks knowingly. So Tetsuya had caught on -- over the past week, he had been coming out of the shower shirtless, or with nothing but a single towel draped around his waist, or...
(He couldn't help it -- bored out of his mind, he hadn't gotten any action in the past, what, ten years? -- he's an assassin, for god's sakes; it isn't as if he can just fuck his victims before slashing their throats apart: that doesn't sit well with him. With a cute, delectable, defenseless creature like Kuroko Tetsuya sleeping by his side every night, refusing to leave his hideout -- no man would be able to resist such a temptation, and he isn't -- wasn't -- willing to try.)
"Hmmm," Chihiro hums smugly. Tetsuya refuses to turn back, and the taller man doesn't make him.
After all, what they're having is a lighthearted conversation, but they both know it won't last.
***
That night -- to be precise, at one in the morning -- Chihiro wakes up suddenly.
Someone is outside.
Someone who is calling for him -- no, calling for the "Mist". He shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He would've never thought of people giving him such a ridiculous nickname, had it not been for Tetsuya's interference.
Tetsuya.
The detective is fast asleep, but he stirs, half-conscious.
'He's got good senses,' Chihiro thinks, 'but not good enough.'
It isn't a bad thing -- no, it's something Tetsuya should be grateful for. Only those who thrive in the underworld should have razor-sharp senses -- they determine whether you live or die, after all. Tetsuya mumbles something under his breath, and Chihiro turns his back to him.
Before he can move, however--
--a hand shoots out, latching onto his own. He whips around in surprise, eyes wide.
"...Where you are you going?"
Tetsuya's voice is soft, coated by a thin layer of sleep.
He's good.
He isn't a detective for nothing, Chihiro realises. His lips tug up involuntarily.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"..."
Tetsuya's brow furrows slightly, but other than that, he gives no indication of what he's thinking. It's enough, though.
"I won't let you leave."
"Let me?" Chihiro raises a brow, fully turning to face him properly. "You won't let me, you say -- I don't require your permission to leave, kid."
Tetsuya is silent. He's hell-bent on stopping Chihiro, it seems. The assassin only shakes his head.
"Just because we fucked doesn't mean you can make me do shit about my job."
Impressively, Tetsuya doesn't physically react -- he doesn't reel back, his fingers don't tighten. But pain flashes through his eyes for the briefest of moments, and Chihiro feels powerful.
It's a sickening thought.
"Let go."
"I refuse."
"You really don't understand the situation you're in, do you?"
"I won't let you leave," Tetsuya reiterates, and Chihiro's brow ticks in annoyance. It's like they're re-enacting their initial meeting.
(It pisses him off.)
In a single, fluid movement, he has both of Tetsuya's wrists pinned to the bed--
--only for Tetsuya's slim, toned legs to swing upwards with the full intent of kneeing him in the jaw. He dodges smoothly, but the instant he does so, Tetsuya takes advantage of the literal millisecond his grip shifts to tear his own wrists out of the hold. His hands launch forward to push Chihiro off the bed, but, as expected, the male catches them in his own.
If this turns into a battle of power, Tetsuya will lose in a flash -- they both know that.
However, all he was looking for was a single second where both of Chihiro's hands were occupied.
'Got you.'
The moment Chihiro pushes back against his palms, Tetsuya allows his own shoulders to drop, power draining from his hands--
Chihiro's eyes widen as he falls forward.
He has almost no time to react, and Tetsuya is already moving--
--then, their foreheads smash together.
"FUCKING OW!"
"Hh--!"
Chihiro mentally commends Tetsuya for barely letting a hiss out, because fuck he would've never been able to keep his voice back like that, even in a million years. He's very vocal about pain for an assassin. Nobody hears: much less sees: him during the job other than his targets, though, so it doesn't matter.
"You little--"
Tetsuya has tears in his eyes, and Chihiro sends a swift, furious chop to his temple. With the both of them thoroughly disoriented, it's obvious who will win -- after all, Chihiro kills for a living.
He hasn't been done in like this for a long time, though.
Before his strike hits--
Chihiro inhales sharply, and he softens the blow at the last second.
Tetsuya blacks out on impact, and he falls towards the bedframe. Catching him, Chihiro lays him down on the bed.
...
He could have killed him.
He could have killed Tetsuya with a single strike in that moment -- he's damn lucky that Chihiro caught himself before he did so.
He's still angry. He still hasn't calmed down, and he's more agitated than he has been in a long time.
Gritting his teeth together, Chihiro glares down at the boy's sleeping form. So small. Peaceful. Vulnerable.
He could have died.
...
'I have to leave.'
He has to go before he does anything. Chihiro doesn't trust himself to be near Tetsuya right now, not after that stunt -- he's never fought anyone without killing them, or being put near-death himself, and his fingers are instinctively -- naturally -- itching to finish the job.
This isn't a job.
No matter how many times he repeats the words to himself, his body refuses to stay still. It's hot. He can feel his adrenaline pumping.
Letting out a loud "tsk", Chihiro pulls his discarded shirt on. He grabs the unsoiled trousers he'd prepared hours earlier, pushing his belt through impatiently. He pulls his socks on, shoves a gun and knife through their holsters with uncharacteristic carelessness, then stamps into his shoes. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he closes his eyes.
'I have a job to do.'
He can hear their voices. Please, they say. Avenge me. I'll do anything.
His lips curl up into a sneer and he walks out, steps silent, without a single glance back.
He can't bear to look at the boy on his bed right now.
***
By the time Chihiro's back, only a couple of hours later, Tetsuya is still asleep. He's calmed down considerably by now, and he snarls as the graze wound on his waist starts to sting. He disposed of the body as usual, and the kill was next to effortless: but he didn't get out unscathed, and that dampens his mood. Virtually ripping his shirt off, he glowers down at the bloodied cloth: being torn and stained with crimson, it's as good as gone.
He's still pissed off at Tetsuya -- there's no way he isn't.
But his body isn't screaming for him to finish him off anymore, and that's enough for now.
He takes a step closer.
Tetsuya is wincing in his sleep, evidently in pain, and Chihiro feels a brief, brief pang of remorse in his chest.
...Remorse?
How low he's fallen.
He can't contemplate the feeling before a chill runs down his spine, cold sweat forming at the nape of his neck instantly.
He recognises this sensation.
He knows.
He turns his head back reflexively to face the exit--
--he only has a split-second to take in the cold breeze, why is there a breeze coming in--
--and then there is nothing but black.
"Good evening."
He knows that voice. He doesn't even have to think to place it.
"Fuck... you."
He struggles to speak, choking as he feels his body fall. He feels himself being held back by something sturdy -- an arm -- as it lowers him to the floor soundlessly. He forces his eyes to squint open, and he can barely make out the shape of two polished, leather shoes.
"How low you've fallen, Chihiro."
'You don't have to say it, asshole -- I already... know...'
He can't feel, or see anything anymore. The last thing he remembers is the soft, derisive chuckle that rings through his ears, the same way it did eight years ago.
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--but before it even opens, Tetsuya knows what is inside.
He had realised the very moment that the concrete moved--
--after all, it is nearly impossible to hide the scent of a rotting corpse...
...Even if it is just a head.
~~
He wants to scream. He wants to scream more than anything. Falling back, hard, onto his behind, Tetsuya's gloved fingers dig into the concrete behind his body painfully.
He can't feel a thing.
He wants to scream.
Shaking, Tetsuya brings his hands up to cover his mouth, if only to seal it. He lets out a strangled noise in his throat, and tries hard to swallow.
It isn't the first time that he's seen something like this. If anything, Daiki's brought back mangled corpses that looked much worse than this one.
But...
There's something different about this head. It has mahogany-hued locks that frame it almost pristinely. Its eye sockets have been cleaned, almost meticulously, where the eyes have been ripped out. The mouth is agape, the cheeks are sunken, and there are a few cuts across them that have, also, been cleaned. There is a gash beneath the bottom right cheek, along the jaw. There is no longer any blood leaking from it, as if it has all been drained. Similarly, the sever has been done in a spotless, precise manner: it's as if there wasn't a neck nor body to begin with.
It is jarring, even more so with how real it seems. How alive it looks.
With his palms pressed tightly one on top of the other, pushing back against his lips, Tetsuya's eyes are wide as he forces himself to lean in.
...
His legs won't move.
Sweat drips down from his temple to his chin.
When did it get so hot?
No, he realises as he lets one of his arms wrap around himself, his body is cold and trembling.
This won't do.
If only through sheer willpower, Tetsuya makes his hands drop to the floor, palms flat on the cool concrete. He can feel how strangely frigid it is through the shabby material of his gloves. He closes his eyes as he sucks in a breath, holds it, and then exhales slowly.
When he opens his eyes again, they show nothing but void.
He picks himself up. He stands, and his legs no longer quiver.
This is not Kuroko Tetsuya.
This is the Phantom.
His cool, blue eyes scan his surroundings.
...
Oh.
It's all so clear.
It's all so easy.
This is a pattern he's seen before -- but it won't go the same way this time. Crouching back down onto his right knee, he pries his left shoe halfway off, hand reaching inside to pull out a pair of disposable gloves. Slipping his own gloves into his left coat pocket in favour of the cheap vinyl, he reaches for the head.
It's as if he didn't get knocked out in the first place -- he can't feel the throbbing nor the ache any longer. All his senses are at their sharpest, and he is in top form.
This is the Phantom.
With clear eyes, he tilts his head slightly. The ceiling light flickers once more.
...Safe.
With conviction, he pulls the head out.
...No.
There is nothing like "conviction" to the Phantom. There is nothing but work.
His gaze is calculating, icy; but most of all, empty. He stares down at the human head.
Masculine. About twenty-five or so years of age, if he were to estimate. Standard, Japanese features. He prods at the jaw.
'Stiff,' the evaluations flow through his mind smoothly without pause. 'Rigor mortis set in. Estimated time of death: between twenty-four to thirty-five hours prior. May have been affected by temperature conditions. Currently no signs of decay.'
His fingers pry around and inside the open cavities with cold precision.
'Eyes and eyelids have both been removed.'
He's glad that whoever severed this head placed it in a cool, sealed area. There are no maggots to be seen on it, which is a rarity in itself. It makes his work much easier, he internally notes as he feels around the mouth cavity.
'...Tongue has been removed.'
...
There's something inside.
It's been... Sewn to the roof of the mouth, he realises as he feels the intricate stitching. Whoever did this has been downright meticulous in their handling of their victim.
(Whether whoever cleaned this head up is directly related to their murder or not does not matter.)
...Which brings him to another question.
If this severed head is so clean...
Without a single moment of hesitation, he lifts it closer to his face.
Nothing.
Only a faint, medical smell emanates from it -- a familiar one, at that. He can place the chemical names in the blink of an eye.
So then...
'Where is the smell coming from?'
Rotating the head in his hands, the Phantom angles it so that he can see the inside of the mouth.
The item sewn to the to the top glints, catching the rays of the ceiling light. He stares at it intently, and manages to place the item.
It’s a candy wrapper.
He's seen the candy a handful of times before, advertised around busy cities in Tokyo. He can't remember it that vividly.
Noting it down mentally, he places the head back down, and peers inside the compartment once more. Reaching a hand inside, he splays his fingers across the walls.
Bingo.
Pushing the button located on the left side, he watches as the ground splits once more, the smell intensifying with each centimetre that the gap widens.
It's disgusting.
There is a pool of rotten flesh, nothing more. Before he can do anything, however--
--a click.
It resounds softly, barely audible -- but definitely there. He jumps back instantly, and then--
--the compartment goes up in flames.
The acrid smell of burning flesh isn't something he thought he'd breathe in again so soon.
"Burn it," the inferno seems to say, licking its way up the rotting flesh.
"Burn it," it hisses, staring at the head in his hands.
Instead, he turns. Looks out to the distance.
'I won't play your games.'
And then, the Phantom is gone.
Tetsuya blinks, walking away from the blaze, towards the open doors. He steps out into the sands and begins digging with one hand, never letting go of the head. Once he's satisfied, he places it inside the hole along with his vinyl gloves, and then covers it. Pulling his shabby gloves out of his coat pocket, he rests them softly above the mound, akin to an offering -- it isn't much, but it's all he can give right now.
(And it's all he can do to silently promise the victim that he will find their killer.)
Closing his eyes, Tetsuya bows. Then he leaves, without a single glance back.
It has been two, whole days, and Tetsuya still hasn't found replenishment. What he has found, though, is the city once more. The warehouse he'd been left at was on the opposite side of the town, about a kilometre's walk away.
He refuses to step near the safehouse.
Either way, if he tries to make for it now, he won't be able to last. His body is weakened, and his breath shallow.
It's a dangerous gamble he's playing at, but he won't stop.
"I have to find them," he murmurs under his breath, "I have to find out who killed them."
It's the only thing he's been saying for two days straight, and he's about to collapse. He's lost count of how many times he's said the words.
"I have to... find them."
Incessantly. Repetitively.
He mumbles the words like a crazed man. His gaze is unfocused.
"I have to..."
It isn't doing any good for his parched throat.
"...find them."
For not the first time, Tetsuya's shoe catches onto stray debris, and he stumbles.
He falls.
For the first time, he can't find the strength to get up.
...
Opening his eyes, all he can see is grey.
Smoke billows out into the sky, and the colours blend together.
Grey.
Grey.
...
Grey.
...
...?
He can't see anything anymore.
...
...
...
Tetsuya does not open his eyes immediately. His mind is terribly clouded, but he has to find a grasp on the situation before he does anything.
He waits.
He regulates his breathing.
Soft inhales, soft exhales.
A sound.
"..."
He places it instantly -- it is soft, but distinct. A sound he's heard many times before: the undeniable, crisp flip of a page. It doesn't come from nearby: the person must be at least several metres away.
Tetsuya takes in his own position. He is lying down on something soft -- a leathery, worn-out sofa of sorts, most likely. He hasn't been gagged, nor is there any form of tape sealing his mouth.
He supposes it isn't a problem in a place like this -- screams won't save anyone.
He can feel something binding his wrists together, though. His throat is no longer parched, but his stomach is still empty.
It takes some effort not to smile when he hears a voice.
Opening his eyes, Tetsuya feels his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He blinks, glancing around, taking in his surroundings. It seems standard: not too luxurious, nor rock-bottom in a garbage dump. A regular hideout -- though, it's something akin to an extravagance in a city like this. There is a single, working, desk light that the other occupant of the room is using as he reads. The only gap in the area is a small space beneath one part of the wall, and right in front of it is what Tetsuya assumes to be a pitfall. Judging by the lack of any light coming through whatsoever, nightfall has arrived.
"...Hello," the phantom says softly. He rolls his body over. Thanks to his ankles being unbound, it's an easy task to maneuver himself up into a sitting position.
"Hello," the man echoes dryly. He snaps his book shut, and turns to face Tetsuya.
Ashen hair.
Tetsuya doesn't allow his lips to quirk upwards, no matter how difficult it is. The real ordeal starts from here, after all.
"You are..."
"Mayuzumi Chihiro."
"...Mayuzumi-san," Tetsuya tries, "are you sure you should be giving your name out so easily?"
"What does it matter to a dead man?"
His tone is blunt, factual and bleak. There is no warmth in his voice -- only the truth.
"Kuroko Tetsuya."
"Kuroko," Chihiro repeats, and for the first time, it feels like he's actually looking at him. "You already know who I am."
It isn't a question. Tetsuya does not let anything show on his face.
"Yes."
"You know how this goes?"
"No," he lies. Chihiro is unperturbed.
"You want someone dead," he drawls, "but you're too helpless to do anything on your own."
Tetsuya doesn't give into the provocation. Chihiro doesn't care.
"I don't want anyone dead."
"Yeah, that's what I-- what."
He turns the full force of his blank, grey eyes on Tetsuya, who doesn't react. Chihiro stares at him.
"What."
"I don't want anyone dead," Tetsuya reiterates. Chihiro looks almost affronted, and even more so when he doesn't seem to find what he's looking for in Tetsuya's gaze.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The knife is in his hands faster than he can blink, and Chihiro is already standing up.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to ask politely for someone dead, and you're going to get it, trading off your life in the process. Or," he stalks over to Tetsuya slowly, "you're going to die right here, right now."
'Though I'll probably have to throw him out first, because there's no way blood will get out of that shitty couch. Actually, I could throw the couch out altogether.'
"I see."
'"I see"?! What the fuck. Is this kid trying to pick a fight with me?'
"But..."
He can't see anything in Tetsuya's eyes. It pisses him off, because if anything, it should be vice versa. It's almost like staring at a younger, cuter version of himself that's still retained its innocence.
...
He did not just think that.
Oblivious to Chihiro's inner turmoil -- which is most definitely non-existent, because assassins don't find people cute, hell no -- Tetsuya continues.
The words that slip from his lips are far from what Chihiro wants to hear.
"...You won't kill me."
"Hah?!"
Shit, he's clearly angry now. Tetsuya hadn't meant to aggravate him, but it has a chance of working in his favour, so the shorter male does not rectify his statement.
"Do you really want to test me?"
"No," Tetsuya shakes his head.
'Then what the fuck do you mean, you little shit.'
The next phrase he says causes Chihiro to still for the first time.
"The Demon."
Tetsuya pauses for a moment, letting the name hang between them.
"The Demon is after me."
'What the actual fuck.'
"What the actual fuck," Chihiro says aloud. "Why would you even mention that guy's name here, shit, I didn't want to hear it--"
So they are acquainted, Tetsuya thinks; though it isn't much of a surprise, considering they're both eradicating the denizens of this city slowly, but surely.
...From what Chihiro is saying, it doesn't sound like they're on good terms.
It's going so smoothly that Tetsuya is almost hyper-wary of the possible drawbacks.
"--and what the hell do you mean, he's after you? What the fuck did you do?"
Chihiro hasn't cussed this much in far too long. Externally, of course. Though, the conversations he's had with the "Demon" place a close second.
This is where it counts.
"Akashicchi, as you know, is just as powerful as my dad," Ryouta chuckles. It isn't a pleasant sound. "It's terrifying. They've fought before. Do you remember the incident a few years back, where the police physically couldn't step in?"
He doesn't have to ask, and Tetsuya doesn't have to answer. They both know the truth.
Nobody who has even the slightest affiliation with the underworld can forget it, after all.
"...You see, Akashicchi has connections. Even when I hadn't worked as his right-hand man, things ran along too smoothly. That's why -- Kurokocchi, if it's you -- he'll know. He'll know the second you set foot out of your house to depart."
Ryouta stares at Tetsuya with vacant, hollow eyes.
"He wants you to go to him, Kurokocchi. He has, ever since that day."
"...I failed."
The words taste bitter on his tongue. Ryouta shakes his head.
"He's been waiting for you all this time."
'This is where it counts.'
With the "Mist" glaring down at him, Tetsuya makes a bet. If they're already acquainted with each other, then it makes his gamble all the more valid.
So, he waits.
He can see the moment that the revelation swirls through Chihiro's eyes. They widen imperceptibly, and he inhales sharply.
"You..."
He remembers.
He had glared at the man at the time, spitting out a "what the fuck are you talking about, you sick bastard," when he was unable to listen any longer.
But this--
--this is what he'd been talking about.
Kuroko Tetsuya.
'"My favourite little toy", my ass!'
Cursing the so-called "Demon" in his mind, Chihiro stares at Tetsuya with a newfound apprehension.
"You're the one the asshole was talking about."
"..."
Chihiro tsk's, brows drawn together. He's tempted to kill the boy then and there, but that goes against his standards.
'Who the fuck cares about standards in a situation like this, though, honestly?' he thinks furiously to himself, 'The kid's involved with Akashi-fucking-Seijuurou.'
"You can't kill me," Tetsuya says once more, except this time the "won't" has turned into a "can't", and that pisses Chihiro off even more. He laughs in disbelief, because he's also having a hard time not punching the cute detective in the throat. He isn't one for unnecessary violence, however, and this boy hasn't made any contract with him as of yet.
From the looks of it, he doesn't plan to, either.
Chihiro mourns his fate as a chivalrous, loyal assassin.
Except there isn't much chivalry, much less loyalty, in stabbing people in the back. Literally.
"So why the fuck did you come here--"
Except he hadn't.
Chihiro had brought Tetsuya here with his own hands, and he is paying the price for it now. His jaw drops slightly as he watches the shorter boy shift to a more comfortable position on the couch, hands still tied behind his back.
"You planned this, you little shit."
"The mist is a spirit of vengeance," Tetsuya echoes the words Tatsuya had told him. "If your anguish rings out loudly enough, he will come."
"Is that what they're saying about me now," Chihiro deadpans.
"It appears so."
"Why did you come here?"
His voice drops lower, an underlying threat. Tetsuya speaks, not a single trace of emotion evident.
"I came to apprehend the both of you."
"You're joking," Chihiro says instantly. He pauses and looks at Tetsuya carefully, dumbfounded.
"...Are you a moron?"
"I'd like to think otherwise."
Chihiro has never been so astonished in his life, and he's currently living in an entire city filled with nothing but people who have as much money as they do basic intelligence.
Which is to say, none.
"Are you -- are you threatening me?"
Chihiro's voice is strained, and he stutters, at a complete loss for words.
'Who does this brat think he is?'
"...Not quite," Tetsuya answers after a moment of pause.
"Not quite," Chihiro repeats, "not quite. Do you have any idea what you're getting into?"
He leans down, pressing his knife up against the shorter boy's neck. If he swallows, it will cut into him. It grazes him as he breathes, but even so, Tetsuya does not flinch. Chihiro looks into his eyes and sees nothing but determination and resolve.
Tutting loudly, he pulls his hand back, standing up again.
"Do whatever you want. I'm not getting involved."
Chihiro pauses, as if remembering that Tetsuya had literally just said he was going to arrest him.
"And don't try some shifty shit behind my back. Like hell I'm getting taken in by you."
"I refuse."
And that's that.
Unable to find it in himself to care any longer, the silver-haired man returns to his desk, opening his book. How he manages to look aggressive whilst faithfully flipping open a light novel with a cute, female character printed on the front cover, Tetsuya doesn't know. As he flips through the pages, he heaves a sigh.
He can't concentrate.
'How the fuck does he think he's going to arrest us without any equipment? He doesn't have any weapons, much less a gun. He doesn't even have handcuffs on him. What does he think I'll do, follow him back to his base? Where the hell did he even come from? Tokyo? Probably Tokyo. That's fucking miles away, what the hell.'
"Um..."
"What," Chihiro snaps instinctively. He blinks. "Why the hell are you still here?"
"You said I could do whatever I wanted, so..."
"I didn't mean stay inside my damned base."
Tetsuya only stares at him with his blue eyes, why the fuck are they so massive and blue, they're prettier than all the 2D characters he's seen up until now how is that even possible--
Chihiro breathes.
Calm. Stay calm. He can do that.
"Whatever."
"Um, excuse me," Tetsuya repeats. Chihiro glares at him, but Tetsuya simply wriggles around a bit. "Could you untie my wrists? They're starting to hurt."
"..."
Unbelievable.
He's asking an assassin, the very person who tied him up and brought him to his own base, to untie him because it's "starting to hurt".
For some reason, Chihiro does so. For some reason, Tetsuya thanks him cordially.
And for some reason, Chihiro lets him stay inside his base. He blames it on the lack of proper, social interaction he never knew he was seeking until now, and the kid's overly-blue eyes. He also blames it on Akashi Seijuurou, who will undoubtedly come for him the second he makes a move to harm the small detective. He isn't looking for a death wish, and he can't beat Seijuurou, no matter how much he despises that notion.
He knows his own limits. He's recognised them to the point that it's painful for him.
"You want someone dead," he drawls, "but you're too helpless to do anything on your own."
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOONIE! I’ve written notes on the AO3 upload of this, so I won’t repeat them here, but happy birthday and I hope you have the best day!!!! ♥
Read on AO3 here (recommended)
The lives of those who work in the police force aren't particularly stimulating.
Regular patrols. Missing person cases without any deeper motives. The occasional murder.
Where other cities are alive and bustling at night, this city is dead.
It had always been--
--until the day they arrived.
Kuroko Tetsuya: a twenty-four year old with light, celeste-hued locks and dark cobalt-eyes, working as one of the top detectives in the police force. He is twenty-one when he finally completes his courses at the Metropolitan Police Academy in Tokyo. He is twenty-two and a half when he becomes world-renowned as the "phantom detective".
It is one year later when he gets sent to a different location in Japan, a city long abandoned and inhabited by those who claw their way through blood and grime, doing everything they can if only with the hopes of escaping someday. It is a sea of illicit drugs, crime and black lies that he swims through.
He is not looking to save these people, as much as he had argued with his superiors. This place is far too corrupted and his hands are far too clean, they had drilled into his head before giving him the job. You're the only one who can do it, they had said. The Phantom is a man unknown by both name and appearance.
Scuffed, leather soles tracking up dirt, Tetsuya tilts his rusty hat up to get a better view of the city before him.
All he sees is blight.
There are many rumours -- too many -- that surround this city. A disease that zombifies those contaminated has been spread to all its citizens. A nuclear bomb fell upon this area during the world war, and it has been forgotten since. People who visit are cornered and drawn into the endless network of human trafficking.
There are many rumours that surround this city.
But rumours make leads, and leads hold cause for investigation.
Tetsuya is twenty-two when he first hears of them. Amidst making a name for himself as he flawlessly concludes yet another case, his peers invite him out for drinks at the nearby bar.
He agrees.
He goes with Aomine Daiki, a high-ranked police officer, and Kagami Taiga, an intimidating yet friendly fireman. Daiki is tanned, with hair and eyes both an exotic, midnight-blue. He is often accused of being a foreigner. Taiga, on the other hand, has two-toned crimson locks -- bright towards his crown, blacker at the tips -- and eyes of a similar, dark shade. He is never accused of being a foreigner, despite being practically half-American, much to Daiki’s chagrin. They are both Tetsuya’s best friends. They had met in university and clicked straight away, much to the surprise of many others. They frequent the bar owned by Taiga's brother figure, Himuro Tatsuya, and are often treated drinks as a "thanks" for always helping out.
There are many fights in the bar, after all.
Nobody ever mentions Tatsuya's standing in the underworld. The less knowledge they have when they assist him, the better.
He is a mysterious man with eyes as black as his hair -- albeit, nobody has ever seen his left eye. It is permanently obscured by his tresses. The beauty mark beneath his right eye is also a common topic for conversation.
Tatsuya's best worker is a man named Nijimura Shuuzou, who is a plain, yet attractive man with dark hair and eyes -- though, rather than being the best at bartending, he's really only there to terrorise punks and thugs in the vicinity who think they can extort his boss whilst he waits on tables. He also makes the occasional cocktail.
(Tatsuya's high salary and fondness for Shuuzou also definitely do not stem from the fact that they are, none-too-furtively, hooking up. They try to hide it, but Shuuzou rushing to work with hickeys littered across his collarbone in a shirt that Tatsuya was clearly wearing the week before does not make for much of a secret, unfortunately -- much to their coworkers' and friends' amusement.)
Alongside Shuuzou work another odd pair -- Midorima Shintarou, who is as good at smiling as he is socialising -- he's atrocious at both, by the way -- and Takao Kazunari, the only person who can deal with him for extended periods of time. Kazunari also has onyx-coloured hair and eyes -- but Shintarou, for some reason, has natural forest-green hair and eyes of a near identical hue.
(Tetsuya supposes he cannot point out that fact without sounding hypocritical.)
They are, also, going out with each other. Tetsuya is quite sure that it extends beyond physical relations -- if the blush on Shintarou's face is any telling factor, that is, from what he can see at the moment.
Exhaling, Tetsuya sips on his cocktail. He is the sole person who actually drinks the concoction labelled "EXTREMELY MYSTERIOUS SWEET JUICE!!!! ♥", to everyone's horror, on a regular basis. It is a running bet on how long it'll take for him to contract diabetes.
"What's up, Kuroko? Why the long face?"
"That's his regular face," Daiki points out, slinging an arm around the aforementioned detective. Taiga rolls his eyes.
"He was sighing!"
"I was breathing," Tetsuya corrects, swirling his glass around absentmindedly. He likes watching the bright colours mix.
"Who breathes that loudly?"
"I was exhaling."
"Well I, for one, am glad that Kurokocchi's breathing!" Kise Ryouta calls out as he takes a seat next to Tetsuya by the bar, winning smile plastered onto his chiseled features. He works as a full-time model -- it isn't a surprise, with his silky, bright-golden tresses and piercing, aureolin eyes.
"Shut up, Kise, nobody asked."
"So rude, Aominecchi!"
Ryouta whines, turning his gaze on Daiki like a hopeful puppy. When he doesn't react, the blonde wilts sadly.
"It's okay, Kise-kun," Tetsuya says softly, "Aomine-kun is just grouchy; he got yelled at by the higher-ups today."
"Dammit, Tetsu--"
"Also," he adds as an afterthought, eyes sparkling with mischief, "you aren't Kagami-kun, so your teary-eyed attack won't work on him."
Daiki promptly chokes on his beer.
"W-wait, what-- how did you--" Taiga splutters.
"Everyone already knows you’re together."
"Hah?!"
"More importantly, how long have you been going out for?" Kazunari pipes up eagerly. Taiga is confused, but answers regardless.
"Uh... We started a little while before I went to America for the incident with my old man. Remember that?"
"Ah, rather than remembering, it was more like we weren't allowed to forget," Ryouta grins, elbows on the counter. "Aominecchi was complaining for weeks right after you left, after all."
"S-shut up!"
He smirks cheekily, but his mirth fades once Tetsuya turns in his direction. Puffing up his cheeks a little, the model yields.
Shuuzou sighs, muttering a small "fuck".
"This is why you don't add a detective into the mix," Shintarou shakes his head, pushing his glasses up haughtily. Kazunari nudges him with too much force, making him spill some alcohol onto the floor.
"You still went with it though, Shin-chan!" he cackles.
"Shut up, Takao."
"The hell are you guys going on about?" Daiki grumbles, downing another glass. Taiga's jaw drops as every member of the group -- other than himself, Daiki and Tetsuya -- subsequently bring out two thousand-yen bills from their wallets. They pile up in front of Tetsuya, who has the decency to keep his face expressionless in lieu of looking smug.
"You -- you bet on us?!"
"Shitty bastards," Daiki says without bite.
"Damn, can't believe Tatsuya lost," Shuuzou voices, disgruntled, "I thought this time he'd be able to win."
"I'm no match for him, Shuu," Tatsuya chuckles, "despite watching the lovebirds every odd day, I still lost. How did you figure out the date, Kuroko?"
"I figured Aomine-kun would have to get his hands on Kagami-kun before he left for America," Tetsuya answers without remorse, "because Aomine-kun was starved for action for too long."
"Oi-- Tetsu!"
"K-Kuroko!" Taiga quite literally squeaks, mortified. Tetsuya tilts his head cutely, blinking his large, deep-azure eyes. It is an instant kill for Ryouta, who seems close to headdesking and drowning in his own nosebleed -- but alas, Tetsuya's two colleagues are much too accustomed to his sly ruses. He shrugs, and continues to tease them without mercy.
After the bar is cleared out and they are the only remaining patrons, Tetsuya speaks. The door is locked, the "CLOSED FOR BUSINESS" sign swaying softly in the wind.
"I heard my superiors at work today discuss a particular place in Japan," he begins, gaze resting on Tatsuya, whose lips quirk up subtly. The bar owner continues wiping down the counter without any further notion to signify that he is following the conversation.
"As the rumours there go, there are two criminals that have been set loose in separate parts of town. Both have been deemed serial killers, and nobody knows where they came from."
Lacing his fingers together, Tetsuya leans forward a little. His eyes narrow imperceptibly at Tatsuya's form.
It is their usual game.
"They say one is like the mist, and the other a demon."
"The ashen-haired invisible man -- some say he isn't real," Tatsuya hums, wrenching out the cloth between his hands, "but he definitely exists. Like the mist, he moves, disappearing without any evidence. Gone. His victims vanish with his own person."
"But there is always a trace. Run your hands through a cloud of mist, and you'll know it was there. You'll feel it on your fingertips."
"Yes," Tatsuya agrees, "but akin to every other being, you require an incentive."
Tetsuya stares at him, eyes blank. The latter's smile widens.
"The mist is a spirit of vengeance," he murmurs softly, "if your anguish rings out loudly enough, he will come -- and he will aid you. But nothing comes without a price. For people who dip their hands into poison, what do you think happens?"
'Ah,' Tetsuya thought. Watching the comprehension flit through his friend's eyes, Tatsuya chuckles.
"What about the demon?"
"The red demon," he says. "The Reaper. The devil. Diablo... The death god."
He lists them off like they are synonymous to one another, but Tetsuya knows better. His eyes widen.
"...No."
"Yes," Tatsuya inclines his head a single time, "shall we chat a little while longer?"
"No, this is enough," Tetsuya answers lowly, "thank you very much, Himuro-kun."
"It's no problem," the bar owner replies cheerfully, "I'm always indebted to you. Now, Shuu, Midorima-kun, Takao-kun, shall we begin cleaning up?"
"Already on it," Shuuzou hollers, spraying antiseptic on the tables.
"Hell yeah! Let's go, Shin-chan!" Kazunari grins. Before leaving the bar, however, he pauses and leans over to whisper conspiratorially into Tetsuya's ear.
"Don't get yourself killed, alright, Tetsu-chan? We'd all be horribly lonely without you."
"I'll try my best," Tetsuya offers him a rare smile, "thank you, uhm... Kazunari-kun."
With that, Tetsuya leaves; Taiga, Ryouta and Daiki in tow. Shuuzou stands by the unlocked door as they go, and they listen to the door's closing jingle before resuming their post-work clean-up.
"Ah~ Tetsu-chan is so cute. He's still embarrassed to use my first name," Kazunari says dreamily, sighing like a lovesick, high school girl. Shintarou tells him so, and Kazunari simply roars with laughter in response.
"Ahahaha! Shin-chan, don't worry, don't worry! You know you're the only one for me~"
"Shut up, Takao."
Walking outside, Daiki abruptly elbows Taiga in the ribs, earning a grunt from said male. Taiga shoots him a withering look.
"What?" he asks gruffly.
"This is where we split," Daiki points out.
"Eh, isn't this too early? Well, whatever."
"See you, Tetsu, Kise," Daiki waves lazily, seizing Taiga by the hand. Turning a bright red, the redhead stutters out a short farewell to Ryouta and Tetsuya before allowing himself to be tugged away.
Once they're alone, Ryouta sighs. "I can't tell if Aominecchi did that on purpose, or..."
"Kise-kun."
"I know." he looks frustrated with himself. "You don't have to do this, Kurokocchi."
"I know," Tetsuya echoes, "but I want to."
"Why?"
"Because they're harming people."
"What if they're harming people who deserve it?" Ryouta argues, knowing it to be nothing but futile. Tetsuya shakes his head, a small smile tugging up his lips.
"Kise-kun, nobody deserves to be killed. It only makes for a vicious cycle."
"...You don't even know if you'll be put on the case," he refutes weakly. Tetsuya only stares up at him with determination blazing in his gaze, and Ryouta lets his shoulders drop.
"...Please, don't throw yourself into danger as recklessly as you always do. Akashicchi... Akashicchi isn't somebody who lets people get away with defying him."
"I know," Tetsuya affirms softly. Ryouta shakes his head, and for the briefest of moments, Tetsuya can see it again.
He can see a boy, just old enough to be fresh out of high school, with blonde locks covered in filth and soot.
He can see his eyes, narrowed, dull and golden with a lackluster shine, practically unrecognisable to what they are now.
He can almost smell the blood covering the boy's hands, blood that isn't his own, whose blood is it--
He can remember it vividly -- almost too much so.
There is a boy, painfully young, backed into an alleyway. With his brows drawn together and teeth gritted, he growls like a cornered animal. He is bruised and bloody. Tetsuya speaks softly to him, holding his palms up in a placating manner.
It takes a long, long time...
...But it is nothing less than "worth it" as tears well up in the boy's eyes when Tetsuya finally holds his hand out to him.
There isn't a single day Tetsuya regrets his choices for a second: and he never will, he thinks, as the boy sobs, throwing his gun down to launch himself into Tetsuya's arms.
For the first time, the boy sees the world in colour.
It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The memories are much too fresh in their minds.
(He'll never be able to escape from the hands that curl around his wrists, from the nails that maul down his arms, his legs, his back. He'll never be able to escape all the lives he's stolen. But even so, he continues trying to mend what he's done. He continues trying to find a reason for himself, trying to live for something that isn't his father's bidding. Tetsuya gave him a chance, and he took it.)
Ryouta clenches his fists as he glowers down at the concrete.
"You don't," he says with so much emotion that Tetsuya can't do anything but flinch, "you don't, Kurokocchi. These are two assassins you're up against. I was different."
"You were," Tetsuya agrees quietly, "but I don't plan on trying to save them, either."
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"Perhaps... But more people will be killed if I don't try."
"...What a Kurokocchi-esque answer," Ryouta laughs bitterly.
He looks up, finally, and Tetsuya feels a chill run down his spine.
Those eyes--
It's the same expression Tetsuya has seen on him countless times. There is nothing but ice and pure, pure malice in his gaze.
"I'll tell you everything I know about Akashicchi. But, if either of them lay a single hand on you... I will find them myself."
Ryouta's bloodlust is suffocating--
--and Tetsuya silently thinks to himself that, rather than being afraid of the two assassins...
...It is much more viable to be afraid of the man standing before him.
After all, he is the heir to the infamous King of the Underworld.
At twenty-three and a half, Tetsuya finally gets his hands on the very case that he has chased after for over a year. Scuffed, leather soles tracking up dirt, he tilts his rusty hat up to get a better view of the city before him through his dyed, black locks.
All he sees is blight--
--and blight can be purified.
But he isn't here to do that just yet. If he does not get a proper, tangible lead on either the Mist nor the Demon -- as everyone had begun calling them -- within a month, he will likely find himself mixed into some of the many, precarious situations that the citizens of this city are tangled in. Tetsuya knows this better than anyone.
So, he stays alert.
He blends in with his surroundings, slipping in through crowds, through abandoned buildings, through areas that reek of nothing but blood and sex. He turns a blind eye several times to illegal trades, and quietly exhales, repeating "soon" over and over in his head like a mantra.
Perhaps it is the only thing that helps to keep him from falling into the atmosphere of sheer depravity and impurity.
Perhaps it is the only thing that helps to keep him from noticing the eyes that follow his back wherever he goes.
When he turns around, senses heightened, all he sees is a blur.
And then, black.
His throat constricts, and all he can taste is black.
...
...Black.
"Nn..."
Blinking his eyes open blearily, Tetsuya sits up.
"..."
He jolts awake faster than he ever has throughout his entire twenty-three years of living, and jumps to his feet. He shoves his hands into his pockets.
Gone.
His phone is gone, and so are his capsules of water and liquid vitamins. His wallet and passport are in the safehouse on the outskirts of town, beneath two layers of floorboards in a locked safe, along with emergency supplies and a back-up phone -- but there's no way he's going to rush for them now.
'Is it still the first day? How much time has lapsed since I arrived?'
Tetsuya rubs his dry throat. His head is still ringing, and his senses are all dulled, but he can think.
He has to think.
'Who knocked me out?'
He was unable to catch a single glimpse of his attacker. Had it been a common thug? Or--
Hands reaching deeper inside his pockets, Tetsuya can feel the packets of drugs that the police force supplied him with prior to arriving. He had been ordered to hang onto them at all times, for both blending in and potentially getting him out of risky situations if necessary.
For those to have not been taken... Tetsuya swallows.
He isn't tied up. He's been thrown into a warehouse of sorts, but it is empty. There isn't a single crate in the area -- just dust and insects, along with a large, ceiling light that flickers on and off, despite being daytime still; if the midday sun outside is any indication. The metal doors are unhinged, and he can see the crummy, sandy environment outside. Unlike the rundown and dilapidated, almost cyberpunk-like city from before, it seems as if he's in the middle of a desert.
There isn't a single clue...
...Or so it appears. Tetsuya does not know where he is, but he begins to search.
The place is empty, but there are marks. There always are -- and it is his job to find them.
He scours the floor first. Whoever apprehended him has erased all evidence that could potentially lead to them -- stray hairs, lint... Without a full team working to gather the possible traces of DNA left behind, there is no way Tetsuya will get anywhere by staring at the ground.
So he continues. He presses his gloved fingers onto the smooth, cold floor. If he can't test for fingerprints, then it won't matter if he smudges over places his attacker could have touched.
'I won't leave a single speck of this area uninvestigated,' Tetsuya thinks as he glances off to the side.
...
...?
There's something there.
It's barely visible, but it is undeniably there. Eyes narrowing, Tetsuya inches towards it slowly.
There is a very, very subtle shift in the ground. A trap sensor, a bomb trigger--
--it could be anything.
But Tetsuya did not get his fame from being a coward, and he isn't about to start now. Sucking in a breath and then exhaling, he pushes down gently.
He hears a click--
--and then, the irregular expanse of concrete dips downwards ever-so-slightly, before retracting.
A hidden trapdoor.
Inside it is a small compartment--
--but before it even opens, Tetsuya already knows what is inside.
He had realised the very moment that the concrete moved--
--after all, it is nearly impossible to hide the scent of a rotting corpse...
After the strange fiasco with the lamp-man -- Midorima Shintarou, Seijuurou recited mentally -- the redhead was left feeling strangely empty. He looked down at his small palms, frowning.
...
It wasn't enough.
At nine years old, he'd only further reinforced his label of "prodigious" by showcasing his ability to remain unseen to the human eye even in the human world, a feat only achievable at the average age of fifteen and over. Even then, there were those who weren't able to travel across realms whilst maintaining their "invisibility".
Unfortunately, being invisible meant that he, too, had his senses dulled in turn. However slight it was, it wasn't enough for Seijuurou.
He wanted to feel this world with his own hands and feet. Not through a cheap, light sheen of whatever the hell it was that was dulling his senses. Shuuzou had never explained that part properly to him, anyway.
(Seijuurou suspected that Shuuzou didn't know exactly why their magical senses were dulled, either. Something to do with magical barriers and beings of different realms crossing over the worlds...)
'Well,' Seijuurou thought, clenching his fists, 'I can just shapeshift again.'
Heading over to a secluded back alley, Seijuurou closed his eyes, breathing in.
Changing forms was always something strange to feel. It came naturally, yet it felt so foreign -- taking on the body of something that wasn't his own.
But with years of practice, came years of experience. Without hesitation, Seijuurou shifted into his favourite form -- a black cat. Contemplating a little makeover, he made his coat take on a shiny, red sheen. Satisfied, he flicked his tail, dispelling his invisibility.
'If I could have it my way,' Seijuurou thought sourly, 'I would change my eyes, too. But...'
After what Tetsuya had said that day, coupled with the fact that he physically couldn't change the colours of his eyes -- an unfortunate part of being able to shapeshift was that the hues of their eyes were unchangeable -- Seijuurou couldn't bring himself to hate that fact.
Meowing with a little distaste, he set off, paws padding lightly against the ground.
Of course, however, in the human world, nothing could remain peaceful for that long.
A body -- a large, burly human body -- slammed against the concrete, missing Seijuurou by a few hairs as he hissed and jumped back. Mismatching eyes whipping up to find the source, he--
--oh.
The man had crashed through a wall, if the splintered wood of a store before him was any indication.
...No, he had been thrown through a wall. Through a door. A door that used to be labelled "POTIONS AND PINEAPPLES", whatever that meant.
Who doesn't know how to use a door, Seijuurou wanted to ask.
Before he could react, though, another figure -- significantly slimmer, and brighter -- came storming out from inside. This time, they successfully managed to open the door.
Why they decided to break it first before opening it -- an action unnecessary now that the door was practically non-existent -- was beyond Seijuurou.
Briefly, he imagined tearing down the door to the human world with that much ease.
Briefly, he could see Shuuzou's face, obscured by black locks and shrouded with menace.
Seijuurou reconsidered.
"What the fuck, dude--"
The burly man coughed out blood. It splat against the ground with an unpleasant squelch, and Seijuurou looked up at the culprit, eyes narrowed into slits.
It was a male with a hat that looked much too big for him, dressed in a smooth, shiny, black coat. It covered his entire body from his neck to his ankles, hiding both arms from view. That changed, however, when the male brought out his arm swiftly, tipping the front of his ebony hat up. It was shaped strangely.
'Oh,' Seijuurou registered vaguely, recognition flitting through his gaze, 'a common... Witch hat?'
