‎‎Incidental Findings

Niragi’s working through it. Slowly. Badly. Struggling. Hard to tell with what exactly. Pride, maybe. Whatever he planned, if he planned that far. Keeping still.

His voice loses some of its weight when he opens his mouth and Chishiya puts his fingers in, over his tongue, against his teeth. Not far enough to make him cough.

He only drools a little. Enough to leave Chishiya’s fingers slick when he pulls them out and wraps them around Niragi’s cock, giving him one slow tug, his grip too loose to be any good yet.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he says.

Chishiya has to look at Niragi, though. He’s squirming again. Not much, but it’s there.

Chishiya tilts his head slightly, running his hand up and down Niragi once more.

“Too much?”

Sensitive. Quite a bit.

So Chishiya could just do that. Jerk him off lazily, deliberately sloppy, until he stops growling and starts whining. Drools more. Becomes more pathetic.

Niragi might get up, though, and not to leave. Chishiya’s wrist might get sore. Chishiya is sitting comfortably, but the angle is slightly awkward.

And then there’s that movement.

Small, probably involuntary.

Still movement.

Chishiya stops, not taking his hand off.

“Stay still.”

It should not be difficult. Niragi has managed it this long out of spite alone.

He waits before he closes his fingers more and starts moving them again.

He could give him something simple. Getting even. Making him quiet. Seeing how long he can sit there pretending that everything his body does is happening to someone else.

None of it is entirely wrong. None of it answers the question, either.

“I haven’t decided.”

Niragi insists on looking at him, and Chishiya lets him, gaze half on his face and the tension in his body, half on what he is doing to him.

There is something almost impressive about how determined Niragi is to remain offended while sitting half-undressed on the floor with his hands underneath him.

Almost.

“My patients get full disclosure,” Chishiya says, flat.

He swore an oath. Not legally binding, still an obligation. A compass to follow. There are ethics in patient care. This is neither a patient nor care.

Niragi groans again, still unable to keep quiet, eyes on his belt like it could answer, then on Chishiya’s face. Like Chishiya would answer. Like Niragi still thinks that somehow, in some way, Chishiya might answer anything.

He might have wanted to turn that over one more time in his head before putting his hands on Chishiya’s patient files, employee files, digging his fingers deep enough into his desk to fish out the ID. He probably moved the snacks Chishiya keeps in there. The pen. The small bag with hair ties.

Chishiya looks back at him, unmoving, until Niragi nods.

Keeps still, most of all.

The nod is so tiny it barely counts as movement, but it’s there. Complying with the rules. Having made his decision.

Chishiya undoes the button with his thumb, pulls the zipper down, careful not to let it catch, then pushes the waistband of Niragi’s briefs down far enough to free him.

Then he brings the same hand back to Niragi’s face, two fingers pressing against his bottom lip.

“Open.”

"I bet they do... just sucks for me that I'm just a test subject." The words come out quieter than intended.

Somehow he has no trouble imagining that the smaller male takes his job seriously. He can just go with his gut feeling, because he didn't bother to search for the employee files as he went looking for the other's ID in the hospital.

The ID... examining him might be the smaller male's way of getting back at him for that.

He remembers finding the card in the desk drawer, tucked under paperwork that had been organized with almost obsessive precision. Patient files, he didn't touch. Pens lined up exactly where they belonged. Hair ties in a little bag. Snacks hidden badly enough to be found by anyone willing to snoop just a bit.

The militant mostly went to the other's workplace to get himself a reason to get the blonde to talk to him, really talk to him. He hated to get ignored by Chishiya, which he did fairly often.

And he succeeded with that.

Niragi keeps looking at Chishiya until he feels the other undoing the button and his gaze wanders down. He hates that his pulse quickens again, simply not being used to getting examined like that.

The zipper follows and then the blonde tugs the fabric done. And he keeps telling himself that the smaller male just wants to see that he has a normal cock. No reason to think he will feel the need for any touching.

Then Chishiya's fingers come up and press against Niragi's lower lip. The groan comes immediately. And the first thing he can feel well up inside of his is defiance. Then he feels the impulse to bare his teeth again, to bite and make the other pull back his hand.

His fingers twitch under him but again he doesn't move. Instead his gaze searches the blonde's face again, trying to figure out what the other intends to do. But he really has no fucking idea what's going on inside the smaller male's head.

"You're fucking unbelievable," he says, in a tone slightly lower than usual but in the end he opens his mouth.

Niragi’s working through it. Slowly. Badly. Struggling. Hard to tell with what exactly. Pride, maybe. Whatever he planned, if he planned that far. Keeping still.

His voice loses some of its weight when he opens his mouth and Chishiya puts his fingers in, over his tongue, against his teeth. Not far enough to make him cough.

He only drools a little. Enough to leave Chishiya’s fingers slick when he pulls them out and wraps them around Niragi’s cock, giving him one slow tug, his grip too loose to be any good yet.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he says.

Chishiya has to look at Niragi, though. He’s squirming again. Not much, but it’s there.

Chishiya tilts his head slightly, running his hand up and down Niragi once more.

“Too much?”

It’s getting harder for Niragi already. He’s never been particularly patient, and not being able to do something with his hands seems to make it worse.

Which is a shame.

Chishiya can’t hand him the rifle back. Or some chew toy.

He stills when Niragi becomes more verbal. Stills again when Niragi actually talks despite being told not to. He’s not moving, though. Only so much he can handle, it seems.

“Then stop growling,” Chishiya says and hitches his right sleeve up a bit higher.

He shifts himself toward Niragi on the carpet until he doesn’t have to lean in too far to undo the next button and the next, working his way down until Niragi’s shirt falls open.

No burn marks. No scars.

Chishiya looks back up at his face, the quiver around Niragi’s mouth, teeth more visible than they should be. He flicks either side of the open shirt aside, resting his index finger on top of Niragi’s belt.

Barely there.

“Hands stay where they are.”

“My patients get full disclosure,” Chishiya says, flat.

He swore an oath. Not legally binding, still an obligation. A compass to follow. There are ethics in patient care. This is neither a patient nor care.

Niragi groans again, still unable to keep quiet, eyes on his belt like it could answer, then on Chishiya’s face. Like Chishiya would answer. Like Niragi still thinks that somehow, in some way, Chishiya might answer anything.

He might have wanted to turn that over one more time in his head before putting his hands on Chishiya’s patient files, employee files, digging his fingers deep enough into his desk to fish out the ID. He probably moved the snacks Chishiya keeps in there. The pen. The small bag with hair ties.

Chishiya looks back at him, unmoving, until Niragi nods.

Keeps still, most of all.

The nod is so tiny it barely counts as movement, but it’s there. Complying with the rules. Having made his decision.

Chishiya undoes the button with his thumb, pulls the zipper down, careful not to let it catch, then pushes the waistband of Niragi’s briefs down far enough to free him.

Then he brings the same hand back to Niragi’s face, two fingers pressing against his bottom lip.

“Open.”

It’s getting harder for Niragi already. He’s never been particularly patient, and not being able to do something with his hands seems to make it worse.

Which is a shame.

Chishiya can’t hand him the rifle back. Or some chew toy.

He stills when Niragi becomes more verbal. Stills again when Niragi actually talks despite being told not to. He’s not moving, though. Only so much he can handle, it seems.

“Then stop growling,” Chishiya says and hitches his right sleeve up a bit higher.

He shifts himself toward Niragi on the carpet until he doesn’t have to lean in too far to undo the next button and the next, working his way down until Niragi’s shirt falls open.

No burn marks. No scars.

Chishiya looks back up at his face, the quiver around Niragi’s mouth, teeth more visible than they should be. He flicks either side of the open shirt aside, resting his index finger on top of Niragi’s belt.

Barely there.

“Hands stay where they are.”

The next words hit a nerve and his eyes narrowed at the smaller male still sitting right in front of him. The whole situation feels wrong and also not wrong at all at the same time.

"Bossy little…"

He bites the rest off as another growl comes over his lips, it's a mixture of annoyance and instinct. The irony isn't lost on him. Chishiya tells him to stop growling, and the first thing he does is growl again. But this shouldn't be something that comes as a surprise to the other.

The day goblin's hands stay trapped under his body. Not because he likes to keep taking orders, but because if he frees them now, he isn't entirely sure what they'll do.

Getting close to the blonde like this might never happen again, and he doesn't want to regret blowing his chance. Plus, he still doesn't feel like he is plotting to harm him. So far it seems like he just wants to take a closer look at his body.

Most likely to figure out whether there is any proof to find on him that he told him the truth. He can't blame him for that, but his method of choice isn't one he expected.

Niragi counts each button coming undone, glaring somewhere over Chishiya's shoulder instead of looking down. The cold air slips beneath the shirt. He hates that he can't say what he is feeling now that his shirt is open.

And he hates even more that the blonde is looking. More like checking. Or even evaluating. Like he's something laid out on a table.

When the smaller male's fingers spread the shirt open, the militant feels an unwelcome electric jolt rush through his body. And he finally looks down while forcing himself to stay put.

The finger resting against his belt might as well have been a knife. Barely touching. Still enough.

Meanwhile, his fingers dig into the carpet so hard under himself that his knuckles burn. But he doesn't care. Niragi might be listening for now, but he won't be a obedient dog.

He somehow manages to keep quiet and instead he just gives Chishiya a challenging look. If he thinks he needs to see all of him to realize he doesn't look any different so be it.

Niragi looks down eventually, his hands going nowhere. Chishiya can see the strain of them underneath him now, fingers buried in the carpet as though remaining still requires somewhere else for the effort to go.

Not obedient. Of course not.

Only doing exactly what Chishiya told him to.

The distinction must matter to Niragi. Chishiya finds that he does not care much either way.

He slides his index finger along the top of the belt until it reaches the buckle. The leather gives slightly beneath his touch when he undoes it and moves it out of the way.

Waits.

Long enough for Niragi to understand. Long enough for him to move if he intends to.

“Examinations come with gloves,” he tells him. To help him a little.

Maybe he’s caught on already. Maybe this alone is enough to make him leave.

cyberpunkes

MURAKAMI NIJIRO as Chishiya Shuntaro in S01E02 ALICE IN BORDERLAND | 今際の国のアリス dir. Shinsuke Satō

#-imaging

The front of the shop is loud and packed with too many people for the small space. The back is not.

Chishiya glances at the small selection available. Something dark. Not too plain. Not too loud to stand out like someone forgot it in his apartment. He reaches for a notebook in black leather, blank black pages when he flips it open. Very on the nose in a way, smooth like his skin, rather inconvenient to find a good pen for.

Chishiya carries it over to the cash register, gives the store clerk a curt nod, then turns to the section for writing tools.

Picking out a pen takes longer. The opacity on the first one he tries is not enough. The next one catches on the paper. There’s not enough flow, a strange chemical smell, a grip that doesn’t sit right between his fingers.

“Are you a doctor?” a soft voice asks next to him, decidedly too close.

Chishiya blinks down at the shorthand bleeding into itself on the piece of paper he has been scribbling on, then at a meek, round-faced girl.

“I use these for drawing.”

She points. Chishiya hums something approving. She leaves.

Her recommendation does flow nicely, easy in his wrist, fits lightly between his fingers. Chishiya puts several of the pens on top of the notebook, pays, and leaves the shop with a flimsy plastic bag in his hand.

He still has to pick up dinner on his way back. Maybe do laundry today.

@anemia-rp

arthuntblog

Gerhard Richter (b. 1932) [Germany] — ‘Fuji’, 1996. Oil on Alucobond (37.5 x 29.2 cm).

#-imaging

Niragi is no fun. Growling and snorting every chance he gets as if he needed to remind himself every second that he could just get up and leave.

And he can.

He doesn’t have to sit here, hands between his body and the carpet of Chishiya’s room. He can get up, leave, find someone else to take his anger out on.

Or grief. Inadequacy. That thing buried in there that makes him posture and leer and wave the rifle around.

He’s no fun because Chishiya has to watch for everything when he pulls back. His shoulders, his hips, his legs, eyes, mouth. All of him.

One bag of fleas, almost dog-shaped.

“Shut up,” Chishiya says. Just in case.

He undoes two more buttons, then presses down on Niragi’s propped-up knee until his leg lies level with the ground.

It’s a difficult decision, whether he should sit cross-legged or remain on his haunches. He settles for neither, sitting down with his legs folded to one side between Niragi’s.

Easy to get up. Easy to keep Niragi’s legs apart. Fairly comfortable in case this takes too long.

He pushes his sleeves up toward his elbows until the elastic is tight around his forearms.

There’s disinfectant in the bathroom. He can use that later.

Niragi is used to watching every movement around him like it's a threat, because in this strange world it can very likely become one. It's safer to stay on guard to signal to people they can't fucking mess with him.

He doesn't trust the smaller name, being aware of what he is capable of. And he knows the other doesn't trust him either. So he is taking a risk by staying.

This is the closest the militant ever got to the blonde, and he really wants to find out what he plans to do. He wants to find out what's going on in the other's pretty little head.

Niragi has a thing for taking a risk, because the more unpredictable a situation, the more he is reminded that he is still alive.

The day goblin decides to keep playing along for now, but there is no guarantee he won't end up acting on instinct. His patience only goes as far after all. And if Chishiya tries something funny, he won't hold still.

Another snort comes from Niragi as he is told to shut up. It seems as if the smaller male just wants to do as he pleases with him, doing nothing at all.

Then the blonde undoes two more of his buttons and just a heartbeat later a low sound comes out of his throat before he can stop it, somewhere between a growl and another snort.

And for a few moments, the day goblin wonders whether the other has made a plan or just does whatever come to his mind, following his intrusive thoughts.

He catches the pressure against his knee instantly, but he is too curious to fight it. Then Chishiya pushes his leg flat, folds himself neatly into the space between the militant's legs like he belongs there.

He can almost see the smaller male's brain work, already thinking three steps ahead. Like always, he is calculating. He is always assuming Niragi will bite if given half a chance.

He is right, of course, and that's something that pisses him off.

"Tch." It's not more than a warning sound before the taller male bares his teeth at the other in something that isn't quite a smirk, unable to stay completely still. But he also doesn't move his body in any way.

Instead he just watches him roll up his sleeves, before he can't fight the urge to get at least some words out.

"Fucking stop looking at me like I'm some mutt."

It’s getting harder for Niragi already. He’s never been particularly patient, and not being able to do something with his hands seems to make it worse.

Which is a shame.

Chishiya can’t hand him the rifle back. Or some chew toy.

He stills when Niragi becomes more verbal. Stills again when Niragi actually talks despite being told not to. He’s not moving, though. Only so much he can handle, it seems.

“Then stop growling,” Chishiya says and hitches his right sleeve up a bit higher.

He shifts himself toward Niragi on the carpet until he doesn’t have to lean in too far to undo the next button and the next, working his way down until Niragi’s shirt falls open.

No burn marks. No scars.

Chishiya looks back up at his face, the quiver around Niragi’s mouth, teeth more visible than they should be. He flicks either side of the open shirt aside, resting his index finger on top of Niragi’s belt.

Barely there.

“Hands stay where they are.”

Niragi watches him intently. Not exactly worried. Vigilant, cautious, curious. Still tired, maybe.

He remains silent, though. Almost silent. That is enough to continue.

Chishiya smooths a fingertip over Niragi’s canine. Entirely ordinary. Regular, normal, regularly brushed. Nothing out of place.

He keeps one hand at Niragi’s neck as his fingers trail lower, the silk of his shirt cool beneath them despite the body heat underneath. His thumb works one button open before moving back up, tipping Niragi’s head the other way.

Niragi will not go away.

He said that. Threatened it, as though Chishiya has to pay for what another version of him did. A version Niragi lost to.

So he is here to lose again. Or win. Or simply fight, which would all be fine if he had not chosen Chishiya’s workplace as the battlefield, then his flat, then every remaining inch of space in the hotel. Under those circumstances, setting him ablaze does acquire a certain appeal.

Chances are he would not have tossed the rifle aside like that if he still needed it. He would keep more distance if the stun gun in Chishiya’s pocket posed any real risk. So Chishiya does not reach for it. He holds Niragi’s chin firmly in place instead.

“No biting, either,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

Niragi is no fun. Growling and snorting every chance he gets as if he needed to remind himself every second that he could just get up and leave.

And he can.

He doesn’t have to sit here, hands between his body and the carpet of Chishiya’s room. He can get up, leave, find someone else to take his anger out on.

Or grief. Inadequacy. That thing buried in there that makes him posture and leer and wave the rifle around.

He’s no fun because Chishiya has to watch for everything when he pulls back. His shoulders, his hips, his legs, eyes, mouth. All of him.

One bag of fleas, almost dog-shaped.

“Shut up,” Chishiya says. Just in case.

He undoes two more buttons, then presses down on Niragi’s propped-up knee until his leg lies level with the ground.

It’s a difficult decision, whether he should sit cross-legged or remain on his haunches. He settles for neither, sitting down with his legs folded to one side between Niragi’s.

Easy to get up. Easy to keep Niragi’s legs apart. Fairly comfortable in case this takes too long.

He pushes his sleeves up toward his elbows until the elastic is tight around his forearms.

There’s disinfectant in the bathroom. He can use that later.

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

upstairsdownstairsandinbetween

Fuji’s hands move over Chishiya’s back, firm in some places, light in others, and Chishiya shifts into all of them. Into Fuji’s fingertips tracing his ear.

All good.

All welcome.

None of it comes with an artificial role attached, an expectation or meaning Chishiya has to answer or reject or ignore. Just Fuji seeing with his hands when there is not that much for the eyes to learn from Chishiya’s skin alone.

Fuji is almost pliant now. Not soft, not meek, not anything less than he was before, with his voice all deep and his claws around Chishiya’s throat. It should be an odd instinct, leaning into the touch of someone taller and stronger, someone spelling out don’t mess with me with every inch of his body, just because he is not using it against him in this moment.

Chishiya smooths Fuji’s hair behind his ear, fingertips on the soft skin there, drawing small circles. Fuji liked that, him playing with his hair. Chishiya liked hearing him like that, so he does it again, threading his fingers through the silky strands, pulling at them, slow, measured, stroking in between.

There is a frown on Fuji's face when his skin is warm under Chishiya's fingertips at the very lowest part of his back, and then it dissolves. No shove. No wrist grabbed. So Chishiya licks his lips, just a little, as he takes a step closer, sliding his hand deeper with the movement, almost slightly drunk on Fuji being there.

Right there.

The fangs give him pause, just for a moment. Something that has been slightly off about Fuji’s smile. Something he has not paid close enough attention to. Probably more than a fashion statement, another piece of him constructing himself. Most likely nothing real, or more real than the ink. Something to look at closer later.

Chishiya curls his fingers into Fuji’s skin when he closes the gap between their faces the rest of the way, grip tightening in his hair. Not to fix him in place. Just to make him feel where he is held.

He sighs when he parts his lips, licks at Fuji’s lower lip, kissing him slowly, taking his time to find the unfamiliar shape of the teeth without cutting himself on them. Then deeper, because Fuji has already said yes and because there is no reason to pretend he wants less than that, adjusting his grip in Fuji’s hair, knuckles scraping against the waistband.

#-anemia-rp #-garage

Three Story Private Staircase Commission, London, 2008,

A work of Art by Vincent Dubourg,

Manufactured with the help of Roxburgh Construction,

Carpenters Workshop Gallery

The fuss is there, though not quite as expected. Chishiya feels the corner of his mouth tug up a fraction and he takes a breath, waits for it to settle down again, before he crouches down in front of Niragi.

Eye level now. Ready to get up at any moment.

The hard line around Niragi’s mouth doesn’t take too much away from the soft curve of his cheekbone. A face any mother would love, a mind underneath she’d rather not look at too closely.

Chishiya picks up the same strand of hair he held before, when Niragi was unconscious, and tucks it behind his ear. He doesn’t pull his hand back all the way. Keeps it underneath Niragi’s jaw instead, tips his head lightly to the side as if to inspect any fangs that aren’t really there.

“You move, I stop,” he tells him, flat. Even. Not hard to understand. Hard to act on, probably. Or not act, depending on how you look at it.

He extends his index finger, pushing at Niragi’s upper lip, tilting his own head with it.

Niragi sees the faint curling up of Chishiya's lips, something that is easily missed if one doesn't look at him the moment it happens. His eyes narrow more as he keeps looking up at the smaller male, but he decides not to comment on what he saw.

The blonde gets his expression under control again before he crouches down in front of the militant. He allows their gazes to meet directly, trying to figure out what is going on in that cat's mind.

Niragi doesn't know what to make of the smaller male wanting to get closer to him while requesting to keep his hands where he won't be able to touch him.

The militant decides to rely on his own instincts and those are telling him that the cat in front of him is merely curious. It is curious and not in the mood to attack… at least not yet. It surely depends on what he himself will do as time passes.

He keeps sitting on his own hands, watching Chishiya as he starts to inspect his face. At least it feels like this is what he does. He watches him pick up a strand of the day goblin's own hair before tugging it behind his ears. For a heartbeat there is light confusion in his eyes. It's the first time someone has done that, and he doesn't know how to feel about it.

Of course, the fucking cat has to be the first one to treat him like either an animal in the zoo or an experiment. And the worst part is that he doesn't stop him and just keeps watching his face instead.

Niragi's eyes narrow again as the blonde's fingers find their way under his jaw, but again he lets him do as he pleases as he tips the militant's head to the side. It surely seems like the other is determined to find a difference between him and a human.

But the thing is, there aren't any differences if it comes to looks.

As Chishiya tells him not to move or else he will stop, Niragi lets out an amused snort. "I will humor you for now." He replies, still having not figured out why he allows the other to touch his face in that way.

Maybe because it's unusual behavior for the smaller male, and he wants to see where it leads. Maybe it's simply him being tired.

There is almost another snort as Chishiya pushes his upper lip up, and he simply stays put. He just wonders in what ways he will continue to inspect his face.

Niragi watches him intently. Not exactly worried. Vigilant, cautious, curious. Still tired, maybe.

He remains silent, though. Almost silent. That is enough to continue.

Chishiya smooths a fingertip over Niragi’s canine. Entirely ordinary. Regular, normal, regularly brushed. Nothing out of place.

He keeps one hand at Niragi’s neck as his fingers trail lower, the silk of his shirt cool beneath them despite the body heat underneath. His thumb works one button open before moving back up, tipping Niragi’s head the other way.

Niragi will not go away.

He said that. Threatened it, as though Chishiya has to pay for what another version of him did. A version Niragi lost to.

So he is here to lose again. Or win. Or simply fight, which would all be fine if he had not chosen Chishiya’s workplace as the battlefield, then his flat, then every remaining inch of space in the hotel. Under those circumstances, setting him ablaze does acquire a certain appeal.

Chances are he would not have tossed the rifle aside like that if he still needed it. He would keep more distance if the stun gun in Chishiya’s pocket posed any real risk. So Chishiya does not reach for it. He holds Niragi’s chin firmly in place instead.

“No biting, either,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

The answer is simple, and Niragi still talks as if he has to, fixing Chishiya with his eyes like an animal shot and cornered, instinct too strong to stop and think when it might be better not to struggle.

He does stop struggling somewhat, though. Puts the rifle away. Not carefully. Tosses it aside like he no longer needs it, after cradling it like a stuffed toy for comfort earlier.

Maybe not fully awake yet. Maybe past caring. Not to be taken lightly either way.

Chishiya gets up slowly, smooths his sleeves down, then walks the few steps across the room. He does not crouch yet. Not with that glint still there, like Niragi does not even know himself what he is holding on to.

He nudges Niragi’s leg lightly with his foot.

“Hands at your sides.”

He waits, not expecting Niragi to comply neatly without a fuss first.

“Keep them there.”

Niragi isn't able to shake the tiredness fully off, but he has already made his decision and he will stick with it. The future that turned him into a day goblin no longer exists anyway.

He got used to holding the rifle close at all times, to make sure people stay away from him, but now at the moment he doesn't feel bad about tossing it to the side. He is willing to take some risk.

The militant watches the smaller male get up, smooth his sleeves down before making his way over to him. He stays on the floor without making any movement, but the look in his eyes clearly says he is still on guard.

It's better to be on guard, no matter how tired he still is.

As his legs get nudged, he just raises an eyebrow at the blonde before letting out a snort in reaction to his words.

"You really think that will do anything?" he asks, the tone of his voice meant to provoke.

He thinks to himself fuck it before simply going ahead and placing his hands next to him. He even takes it a step further and sits on his own hands.

"Dare to sit down now?"

The fuss is there, though not quite as expected. Chishiya feels the corner of his mouth tug up a fraction and he takes a breath, waits for it to settle down again, before he crouches down in front of Niragi.

Eye level now. Ready to get up at any moment.

The hard line around Niragi’s mouth doesn’t take too much away from the soft curve of his cheekbone. A face any mother would love, a mind underneath she’d rather not look at too closely.

Chishiya picks up the same strand of hair he held before, when Niragi was unconscious, and tucks it behind his ear. He doesn’t pull his hand back all the way. Keeps it underneath Niragi’s jaw instead, tips his head lightly to the side as if to inspect any fangs that aren’t really there.

“You move, I stop,” he tells him, flat. Even. Not hard to understand. Hard to act on, probably. Or not act, depending on how you look at it.

He extends his index finger, pushing at Niragi’s upper lip, tilting his own head with it.

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

Fuji’s breathing misses one exhale when Chishiya’s hand finds its way to his hip. Unexpected, maybe. Like Fuji’s grip loosening around Chishiya’s throat, long fingers settling where his neck meets his shoulder instead, light and firm at the same time, and Chishiya holds his next inhale until he can feel the faint scratching, the thumb moving over bone under the skin.

Not too unwelcome, then.

He angles his head, giving Fuji all the space he might want there, humming low in his throat at the next scratch, at Fuji’s hand moving up his waist to his back, finding the spine as if his skeleton were something to hold on to. As if the lion started mapping him in return.

He twirls his fingers in Fuji’s hair, gives a soft tug, a harder one, watching his face before he goes back to gentle scratching. It leaves his side very open, his arm up there, Fuji right in front of him, hands already at his neck and back where a firmer grip would leave him quite vulnerable, and it makes his pulse beat faster without the faintest urge to do anything about it.

The lion can look. The lion can touch. And Chishiya knows what he is, so being exactly that does not come as a surprise.

He breathes in Fuji’s scent again, that lingering note of smoke underneath everything or on top, hard to tell which, and slides his hand from Fuji’s hip along the waistband of his pants to the side, then the back, slipping just his fingertips underneath.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he says, low. His gaze flicks to the metal at the corner of Fuji’s mouth.

“That might get touched.”

#-anemia-rp #-garage

Niragi is falling asleep again, deep enough for his fingers to loosen around the rifle, not deep enough to prompt Chishiya to move.

It is an odd thing, him being more comfortable sleeping in the hallway than inside. As if there were things Chishiya could do to him in here that he could not do outside. As if he expected Chishiya to want to do something to him.

He must have left quite the lasting impression, somehow.

When the rifle finally drops, Chishiya starts counting. Slowly. Before he can get up, Niragi lifts his head and opens his eyes, and Chishiya settles back down.

He watches Niragi look around the room, skin itching despite there being nothing for him to find.

“Because you were asleep in the hallway,” he says, mild, gaze dropping to the rifle. “Put it down. I might come over.”

The answer to his question is very simple and causes a small snort to fall over his lips. "And since when do you care where I sleep?" He asks, fixating Chishiya to the best of his abilities.

He then follows the smaller male's gaze to the rifle he is still holding in his hands. He thinks for a few moments before he lets the curiosity win about what he will do once he comes over to him.

And without looking away from the other, he tosses the rifle a bit away from himself on the floor. There is a small thud, but he isn't bothered. The day goblin made sure no shot gets accidentally fired.

He is willing to take the risk, even though part of him is weirdly sure the blonde won't try to hurt or kill him. If he wanted to do that, he would have done so why he was asleep.

But in case he is wrong, he can always use his day goblin powers to get out of a fucked situation. So he keeps sitting on the ground as he keeps eye contact with Chishiya.

And he gives him a challenging look.

The answer is simple, and Niragi still talks as if he has to, fixing Chishiya with his eyes like an animal shot and cornered, instinct too strong to stop and think when it might be better not to struggle.

He does stop struggling somewhat, though. Puts the rifle away. Not carefully. Tosses it aside like he no longer needs it, after cradling it like a stuffed toy for comfort earlier.

Maybe not fully awake yet. Maybe past caring. Not to be taken lightly either way.

Chishiya gets up slowly, smooths his sleeves down, then walks the few steps across the room. He does not crouch yet. Not with that glint still there, like Niragi does not even know himself what he is holding on to.

He nudges Niragi’s leg lightly with his foot.

“Hands at your sides.”

He waits, not expecting Niragi to comply neatly without a fuss first.

“Keep them there.”