A/N: Happy Halloween!

So this one's a real departure for me. Horror's not my thing, generally, and I hate scary movies. But. Inspiration struck, and I am her bitch, which resulted in this (voilà?), so there's that explanation. Title was shamelessly lifted off a recently released Woody Allen film (I do that).

Also: The song that I'm quoting lyrics from? Have a listen if you haven't already heard it. Then check out their other songs. Best thing to come out of Denmark since the breakfast danish. And you can quote me on that.

Oh, and allow me to end this Author Note by saying: yes, this is my official return to the fandom. What up, yo?

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize originated with me.

You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger

One

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I seek you out,

Flay you alive:

One more word

And you won't survive.

—"Eyes on Fire," Blue Foundation

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Someone was moving in.

Takagi Tokio's fingers paused over the keyboard of her laptop as she heard the unmistakable sounds of movement in the apartment next to hers. It had been vacant for a year, and she had finally gotten used to not hearing her obnoxious former neighbor grunt and moan when he had women over. Thankfully, her side of the shared wall wasn't in her bedroom, or she might have been the one to move.

She pursed her lips, then shrugged and decided to greet her new neighbor. Whoever it was had to be an improvement over her last one. Besides, she'd be able to nicely ask whoever it was to please keep their noises down, since she worked from home. So she saved what she had, then got up and padded over to the door, slipping into her shoes and her jacket; the hallway was as frigid as the outdoors, and though Tokio was going to make this quick she didn't want to be freezing in the mean time.

She knocked on the door, then shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and huddled in the lined wool, absently hoping her new neighbor wouldn't be as much of a pig as her old one.

The door opened and her head came up, mouth opening. Nothing came out when she caught sight of her new neighbor.

He was tall and pale, his hair inky against his skin. The face was long, angular, severely hollow-cheeked and vaguely lupine. But the eyes were what held her, what made her throat constrict and air lodge in her chest. They were amber, but held none of the warmth; his gaze made the snow and zero-below temperatures outside seem temperate by comparison.

"Yes," he said finally, voice low and gravelly.

"Tokio," she whispered. "I mean…I'm Tokio. I live next door. I just wanted…to introduce myself."

"And so you have," he said, then shut the door in her face.

She stood outside it for a moment, then wet her lips with her tongue.

"Um, I just…I also wanted to ask you to please try to keep it down, since we share a wall?" she said, raising her voice slightly. "I work at home, so I…I'd appreciate quiet."

There was no response from within, and since she felt like an idiot talking to the man's door, she decided to just go back to her own apartment and back to work. It wasn't until she was in the genkan, shrugging out of her jacket, that she realized she hadn't gotten a name or an assurance, however insincere, of his compliance with her request.

On the upside, though, he definitely had no interest in hitting on her, so that was a win.

Tokio shook her head and hoped for the best.

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She quickly discovered that having her new neighbor next door was no different from when he hadn't been there. The man was so quiet she sometimes wondered if he came home at all, or if he was even still living there. And due entirely to her chilly reception, she made no attempt to find out if he was all right or not.

Tokio didn't see him again until nearly a month had passed. She was coming back from the market in the gloomy twilight, walking up the walk to the front door of the building, when she saw her neighbor standing in the shadows of the entrance; she noticed him only because of the wisps of smoke drifting up from the end of his cigarette. Her step faltered for a moment when she saw him, and then she continued on as if she hadn't paused. When she was close enough, she said, "Hello."

His gaze flickered to her, then returned to whatever it was he'd been looking at. Tokio swallowed and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, quailing a little inside when his gaze suddenly went back to her when she did. He watched her mouth, then looked up at her and met her eyes before looking away again. She swallowed and awkwardly adjusted her bags in her arms, then said, "If I offended you, when I asked you to please try to keep the noise down, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just that the last person who lived there wasn't great about—"

"You didn't offend me," he said.

Tokio blinked. "Oh." She frowned down at her groceries. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Now what? she wondered after several beats of silence had passed.

"I didn't get your name," she said finally, deciding to try one last overture.

"I didn't give it."

"Is it a secret?" she joked, attempting a cautious smile in his direction.

His gaze pinned her where she stood, and Tokio felt every beat of her heart in a new, vaguely unpleasant way that she had never before experienced.

"Hajime," he said finally, and she blinked, and the sensation of being intensely aware of her own heart dissipated.

"It's nice to meet you, Hajime-san."

His thin lips curved into a faint smirk. "Is it?" he asked, and Tokio wondered what he found so amusing about that.

"Well, sure," she said after a moment, not entirely sure he wanted an answer.

"Hn."

There was another long pause that made her uncomfortable, and Tokio decided it was time to go. She was getting cold, and besides that she was pretty sure she wasn't going to get anything else out of her odd new neighbor.

"Well, Hajime-san, if you ever need a favor, you can knock on my door," she said, hefting her bags up. "See you around."

He didn't respond, either to her offer or her goodbye, and as she struggled to open the door and get through it without dropping anything, Tokio wondered if he was rude or just socially awkward.

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The next time she saw Hajime, she wished there was a handy hole she could hide from him in.

She had been tapping away at her laptop for hours, oblivious to the painful way her stomach was pinching, when loud knocks that sounded like gunshots shook her front door. Tokio flinched, yanked completely out of what she was doing, and only now noticed how low the sun had sunk in the sky, how dark her apartment had gotten, how hungry she was. She took her glasses off and set them aside, then rubbed her watering eyes. Then she rose and walked to the door, which was still being attacked by someone's fists. She looked through the peephole, and her heart dropped: her sister and her sister's boyfriend—who was also her sister's drug dealer and pimp, as the situation demanded—were standing on the other side.

She thought about not opening the door, but knew if she didn't, they'd probably try to break it down. So, sighing, Tokio unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hello Tami," she said, tone subdued.

"We need money," Tami said without preamble.

"You always need money," Tokio murmured.

Tami was thinner than she had been last time she'd come, and almost as deathly pale as Hajime. There were bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep, and the eyes themselves were bloodshot. Tami was twitchy, her clothes were dirty, and her hair was greasy and stringy.

Par for the course, Tokio thought dispassionately.

Their parents pretended Tami had died, and their brother had followed suit, but Tokio hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. That refusal had had its repercussions in her own relationship with her family, but even being frozen out by her parents and little brother couldn't make her quite abandon her little sister. There were too many memories interfering with that, Tokio supposed. Her biggest problem was that she remembered who Tami had been, before Yoshida and before the drugs, and she kept hoping the Tami she remembered would come back one day. That hope had grown dimmer in the last year, but old habits die hard.

Or maybe she just wanted to matter to someone so badly that she couldn't bring herself to cut Tami off. Even though she knew Tami was only using her, even if she knew there was no affection or reciprocation in her relationship with her sister…Tami was the only person who needed her anymore, now that her family refused to speak to her.

"One hundred sixty-two thousand, for now," Tami said, ignoring or maybe not hearing what Tokio had said—Tokio was never sure if Tami always heard her anymore.

Or maybe it was more accurate to say she wasn't sure if Tami understood her anymore; she certainly no longer understood her little sister.

"I don't have a hundred and sixty-two thousand yen just lying around, Tami," Tokio said wearily.

"Whatever you have, then," Tami snapped, shoving her way into the apartment, and Tokio looked after her, then back at Yoshida, who lounged in her doorway and smirked at her.

"What've you got her on, Yoshida?" she asked flatly.

"Why's that, Tokio?" Yoshida asked, reaching out to run a finger over the skin above the neckline of her shirt. "You want some?"

Tokio slapped his hand away.

"No," she said. "What is she on? Coke? Heroin? Meth?"

"Coke," Yoshida said, amused. "You sure know a lot about drugs, Tokio. Sure you don't want any? I wouldn't mind sharing with you."

Tokio snorted, then turned around and went looking for Tami. She found her sister in her tiny bedroom, digging through her jewelry box.

"What the hell, Tami?" Tokio demanded.

"I need more than a thousand fucking yen, Tokio! What the fuck is this? You know I need money!"

"Then how about a job with a steady paycheck?" Tokio snapped, unable to ignore this any longer. "I'm not a damn bank, Tami, you can't just show up here demanding money and always expect me to have it!"

"You're supposed to take care of me!"

"No, that asshole Yoshida is!"

The blow was unexpected, and hard enough to send her to the floor. She wasn't sure where it had come from, exactly, was only sure that it hadn't been Tami, because Tami had been in front of her and was still in front of her. She was disoriented for a few seconds, and then the pain kicked in. There were sounds, voices, and then she felt someone lower themselves down over her.

"Maybe we'll play next time, Tokio," Yoshida said in her ear, pushing his hips into her, rubbing himself against her, before he laughed and levered up off of her.

She sat up slowly, one hand clutching the back of her head, then got to her feet, holding onto the wall for support. She managed to make it out to the main room, and found her door standing wide open, no other evidence of Tami and Yoshida's having been there.

"Shit," Tokio muttered, tentatively feeling the lump on the back of her head, wincing when gentle fingers trespassed over too-sensitive flesh.

A look at her laptop found it gone, and Tokio swore louder, tears burning at the back of her eyes. Gods, she was so stupid, she should have just grabbed money and answered the door with it. Then again, neither of them had ever attacked her before.

"You don't look well," came a voice from the door, and Tokio's head whipped toward it too fast, making pain sing through her skull and explode behind her eyelids. When she managed to get them open, she found Hajime standing in the hall outside her door, hands in his pockets, gaze on her.

Mortification vied with pain when she saw him. Oh gods, this was the last thing she needed. Bad enough that everyone on the floor had heard her argument with Tami, but for Hajime to have been disturbed—especially after she had been so pushy for him to be mindful of his noises—was humiliating.

"You're bleeding," he said, and Tokio frowned. "Mouth."

She leaned against the wall, then used the back of her hand to brush against her mouth. Blood smeared against her skin in a bright, crimson streak.

"I guess I cut my lip on my teeth when I fell," she said, looking up at him.

He hadn't moved from the hall, impassive gaze still on her in a way that was beginning to get uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "About the noise. My sister…and her boyfriend…came by."

"For money," he said with a nod, and Tokio felt her cheeks heat.

"Yeah, well," she said weakly, gaze once more going to the desk where her laptop had been. Panic for her job began to set in: aside from not being able to meet her deadline, there was a lot of information saved on her hard drive pertaining to what she was working on, some of it information that, had she worked for the government, would have been the equivalent of classified material. She closed her eyes and willed the panic away; she needed to compartmentalize. She was suddenly glad Hajime was there. Having someone else around would force her to get herself together.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, Hajime-san," she said, forcing a brittle smile. "Would you please come in?"

He stepped over her threshold with particular care, shutting the door behind him and removing his shoes before stepping up from the genkan.

He moved silently, with fluid grace. His eyes flickered all over the room, as if he could make out details in the dim room. Maybe he could; some people had better night vision than others. All too soon, however, his gaze was once more pinning her down, and Tokio was once more uncomfortably aware of herself.

"Would you like tea?" she asked.

"No."

"Okay," she said, deciding that regardless of whether he wanted any or not, she needed some.

"You're still bleeding," he said, hands in his pockets as he stood in the center of the room watching her.

"It'll stop in a minute," she said, tentatively pressing the back of her hand to her mouth again. There was less blood when she pulled it back to check. "It's already starting to clot."

When she looked up at him, he seemed closer, but he didn't look like he'd moved. Tokio blinked, and Hajime was back where he'd been in the center of the room again.

"Must've hit my head harder than I thought," she muttered, carefully using the wall as a guide as she made her way to the kitchen.

She washed the blood off her hand, then went about the familiar, soothing routine of preparing tea. Her nerves calmed as she worked, and as she was pouring herself a cup, she called over her shoulder, "Are you sure you don't want tea, Hajime-san?"

"I'm sure."

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No."

"Would you like to sit at the kotatsu?"

He didn't reply, and she looked around and found him already seated at it, watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up upon finding his gaze on her, but Tokio shook it off. She grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer before she joined him at the kotatsu, and held it against the back of her head with a wince, then sighed.

"Your laptop is missing," he said.

"Yes it is," she said, not looking up at him, instead pretending great interest in blowing on her tea to cool it.

"Your sister and her boyfriend took it."

She gave him the barest nod.

"Why?"

"Probably to sell it," she murmured. Her gaze flickered up and tangled with his; Tokio had the oddest feeling no power on earth was going to let her break eye contact with him until he wanted it, but couldn't say why she thought so.

"For?"

Tokio snorted. "Short term? Money. Longer term? Drugs, as much to use as to sell, I'd wager."

There was a curious lack of judgment in his gaze. His gaze was clinical, she decided after a moment. It was as if he was gathering information, but not necessarily because he was interested in it one way or another.

"Did your sister hit you or did her boyfriend?" he asked.

"I think it was Yoshida," she said. "The boyfriend," she added when he didn't immediately say or do anything. "I was looking right at Tami when I got hit, so I doubt it was her."

"Was it planned?"

Tokio's eyes narrowed as she considered that possibility, which hadn't occurred to her until he had brought it up. In the end, she decided against it:

"No," she said, gaze focused again. "I've never denied them money before. They wouldn't have been expecting to have to coerce me, or force me."

"You denied them this time?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Not on purpose," she said wearily. "But I didn't have enough on me for what they were asking. I wasn't too keen on the idea of giving them any, anyway, so that attitude probably didn't help."

"Why bother with them?"

Her eyes snapped open, dark brown meeting amber. There was something different about them this time. They weren't as cold as they'd been. They weren't any warmer, but they were…much more vibrant than they had been.

"Tami's my sister," she said. "Everyone else cut ties, but I couldn't leave her alone like that, without anyone."

"Doesn't seem to matter to her," he said. "I'd say that fact alone should be enough to satisfy your conscience. And if she has that man, she isn't alone."

"He doesn't care about her," she said with a scoff.

"She likely doesn't care about him either," he said with a shrug. "She needs him for what he can give her. She's a parasite," he added with that odd smirk of his, as if he knew some funny secret she didn't. "Parasites take. As they take, they weaken the host. As soon as she can't take from him anymore, she'll move on. Or maybe he will—he's as much a parasite as she is. Two parasites can't feed off each other. One of them dies sooner or later. Usually sooner."

It was quiet for a long time, and then Tokio finally looked down into her tea.

"She's all I have left," she said.

"Not anymore," he said. "Start looking somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else," she said flatly. "This apartment is it. I work from home, I don't have friends, my family doesn't talk to me anymore. Tami is all I have left."

Silence descended again, and then Hajime rose. Tokio looked up at him, and was once more pinned by those unsettling eyes.

"Start looking somewhere else," he said again, then went to the genkan, stepped into his shoes, opened the door and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Tokio stared at the door, startled by the entire encounter. It was then that she realized that this was the first time she had heard him speak so much. His conversation was usually the bare minimum, just enough to answer questions without revealing anything at all. What in the world, she wondered, had brought on such chattiness in such a tight-lipped, laconic man? And what could have compelled him to offer her the advice—sound as it was—that he had? The lump growing on the back of her head suddenly throbbed a little more intensely, and she groaned and closed her eyes.

Before she chose whether or not to take him up on his advice, though, a trip to the clinic was definitely in order.