I, Tamaki Suoh, had lived in England for a number of years before the events that had inevitably changed my life took place; not that I was always welcome, being half French and half Japanese, but I called it home nonetheless. I even entered the Queen's military as a doctor to make available my skills as a citizen of the dear British Empire.
However, the second Afghan War brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it meant nothing but misfortune and disaster.
He flinched as a shell exploded, not too far away, and earth rains down upon his head and back. His hands moved over the fallen soldier with gauze and precision, anything to stop yet another death; anything to save someone who had a single chance.
It was a doctor's duty, after all.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. He was used to a doctor's surgery, not the battlefield. In a doctor's surgery, there were no shells, no guns, no cannons…
No enemy solider aiming at a mere doctor. No crack as the shot was fired.
Pain tore through his shoulder, contorting the features. Blood seeped through his torn uniform as he fell to the ground, and one of his colleges dragged him to safety.
"Sir, are you alright?"
Tamaki gasped as he shot up in bed, face covered in sweat and shoulder groaning in protest.
He swore he could still see the explosions on the battlefield.
I returned to England after that fateful day, with my health irretrievably ruined and my future bleak. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are drained.
"Tamaki-kun!"
Tamaki paused, leaning on his cane. How unusual it was to hear a Japanese honorific attached to his name these days, and he could swear he knew the voice. His nose scrunched against the scent of horse manure and factory emissions that always hung in the air, taking a few limping steps forward; it was probably his imagination running wild, not even a Japanese man would use honorifics in London, due to the hate received – it was the same reason why he hadn't spoken a single word of French, also. It's easier to accept the status-quo and borderline hatred, rather than stick to upbringing or traditions and encourage spite amongst your peers.
"Tamaki-kun!"
That call again.
He stopped once more, and turned towards the sound.
That man was certainly Japanese. He was running towards him, rare honey blonde hair bouncing and catching the sun as his short legs fought to catch up with the ex-army doctor; there was still a childlike smile on his lips, however.
Tamaki could swear that he knew him, but the name escaped his memory.
The man came to a stop in front of him, panting only slightly despite the distance he must have ran. "Tama-chan! Ah, I mean, suoh-san; Haninozuka Mitsukuni, remember?" He greeted, dimples deepening, "We attended Bart's together."
"Of course," Tamaki felt his own lips trying to quirk into a smile, but it was almost as if he'd forgotten how over the months. That was rather concerning. "Haninozuka."
He held out his hand to shake – embracing the standard English greeting – and felt Mitsukuni grip it firmly.
"Good Lord!" He announced, an almost mocking English accent coating his high voice, which Tamaki actually felt the urge to laugh at, "Where have you been? You're as thin as a rake!"
Standing at a table in the crowded bar of the Criterion, Tamaki recited the happenings of the last few months for his old friend and college - whom still insisted on being called Hani-senpai despite his age and current location.
"I made it home," Tamaki stated, regret colouring his tone, "Many weren't so lucky."
"So..." Hani began, "What now? Surely you have a plan, Tama-chan."
That was another thing that hadn't changed. 'Tama-chan'. For as much as it made Tamaki uncomfortable, given the circumstances, it was endearing.
"I need a place to live," He informed, "Somewhere decent and affordable isn't that easy to come across."
Hani chuckled, in an almost mature fashion, and took a drink from his glass of gin. Not even water was safe in this damned city. "Do you remember Takashi?" He asked.
Tamaki nodded after thinking briefly. Morinozuka Takashi; a big man with big muscles - the biggest, surprisingly, seemed to be his heart. The man was cousins with Hani, if he remembered correctly, and didn't waste words with idle conversations about the weather.
"He owns a few rooms now, on Baker Street; he makes a decent sum but they're fairly cheep," Hani informed. Tamaki almost frowned; Morinozuka showed a lot of promise and potential, so it was rather surprising that he'd limit himself to the role of landlord, "Another friend of mine, that I meet through Takashi, is about to move in and is looking for someone to go halves on the rent. The flat has two bedrooms, so you won't be sharing."
"Who is this friend?" Tamaki inquired.
When Hani had offered to introduce him to the mysterious 'friend', Tamaki had honestly expected a less… dank atmosphere, rather than an underground mortuary. The smell of death and chemicals seemed to be infused into the walls, despite them being made of stone.
There were also strange sounds coming from –
"Good lord!" Tamaki exclaimed, staring at the horrific sight with disgust. What sort of animal…
"It's an experiment, apparently," Hani informed; though what sort of experiment involved repeatedly and violently flogging a corpse with a heavy walking stick escaped Tamaki, but Hani answered the unspoken question, "Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible."
After a few more moments of uncomfortable observation, he turned and limped away from the disturbing sight. "Is there a medical point to that?" He asked.
"Not sure," Hani answered, a slight grimace, attempting to masquerade as a smile, on his lips.
"Neither am I," Tamaki informed blandly, his effort of showing happiness pushed aside by the man's apparent lack of respect for the dead, "So, where's this friend of yours, then?"
In answer, Hani stopped at the door of the room that the, seemingly mentally unstable, man was residing in, still beating the corpse with all of his strength. Tamaki bit down a swear as the realisation dawned unbearably clearly.
"Excuse me!" Hani called, hoping to disturb the man from his… work, but the flogging only increased in pace.
"I do hope we're not interrupting," Tamaki added, his voice strong from months in his military position.
The enigma of a man gave the corpse one last violent lash, before releasing a held breath and turning to face Tamaki and Hani.
Tamaki had to wonder if Hani surrounded himself with people of his ethnicity on purpose, or if the Japanaphobic comments made by the newspaper and average Londoners were correct and they really did tend to band together.
The man, who had yet to introduce himself, slicked back the stray strands of ink black hair that had obviously fallen whilst he attacked the body on the slab and looked Tamaki up and down with an analytical gaze.
"You've been in Afghanistan, I perceive," He stated, with all the emotion one puts into describing the weather, and turned away, reaching into his waistcoat for his pocket watch.
Hani took it upon himself to introduce the two, "Doctor Suoh, Mr Kyouya –"
However, the small man was cut off by the other man – Kyouya – unexpectedly tossing the walking stick at Tamaki, who instinctively reached out and caught it.
"Excellent reflexes," He complimented with a somewhat unsettling, false smile as he put his watch back in his pocket, "You'll do."
"I'm sorry?" Tamaki questioned, quite thrown by the turn the conversation – if it could be called that – had taken.
"I have my eye on a suite of rooms near Regent's Park," Kyouya continued, as if he hadn't heard Tamaki, "Between us we could afford them."
"Rooms?" Tamaki interrupted, louder this time, and glanced briefly at Hani, "Who said anything about rooms?"
"I did. I mentioned to Hani-senpai this morning I was in need of a fellow lodger. Now he appears after lunch in the company of a man of military aspect with a tan and recent injury, both suggestive of the campaign in Afghanistan and an enforced departure from it," The words were quick and one after another, but he took a quick breath before summarising, "The conclusion seemed inescapable."
Tamaki just stared, blinking owlishly with a slack jaw.
Kyouya flicked another quick glance at the blond before lowering his gaze with a small self-satisfied smile curling his lips. He pulled a longer breath. "We'll finalise the details tomorrow evening," He stated, not even asking Tamaki's opinion on the subject before walking towards the other two, forcing them to step aside as he walked in between them, and took his walking stick from Tamaki as he passed. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hanging in Wandsworth that I must attend and I'd hate them to start without me," He bid, taking his coat from a nearby stand and slipped it over his narrow shoulders.
"A hanging?" Tamaki questioned, unease a still lingering taste in his mouth.
"I take a professional interest," Kyouya informed, "I also play the violin and smoke a pipe. I presume that's not a problem?"
Tamaki stuttered, caught off guard by the change of topic, "Um, no, well –"
Kyouya merely took his hat from the stand and smiled at him. "And you're clearly acclimatised to never getting to the end of a sentence. We'll get along splendidly," He joked, or at least Tamaki thought it was a joke, "Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock, then."
He started to turn away, about to leave before informing Tamaki of the most basic information, but then turned back, catching himself, "Oh, and the name is Kyouya Ootori and the address is two hundred and twenty one B Baker Street."
Without another word, he tugged his hat on and left the morgue.
"Yes," Hani nodded, drawing Tamaki's attention and breaking the uncomfortable silence, "He's always been like that."