Another one from my ao3. Written early February. I will be taking requests (if I like your idea) for Dangan Ronpa, Warriors, and Homestuck for a little while.
Chihiro had never been one to get many wrong number calls. Even when he did, the caller was always apologetic and he certainly had never gotten one in the middle of the night from a sobbing man.
It seemed to him like the man had no idea he'd called the wrong number. His words were slurred and Chihiro could only assume that he was very drunk. At first, the programmer considered hanging up and returning to sleep, but somehow, what was going on captured his attention and he listened with interest, even though he knew it would be much more moral to say, 'wrong number' and put the phone back on the receiver.
Apparently, he thought he was speaking to someone named Kiyotaka - Chihiro had never heard the name but he thought their numbers must be similar if the man misdialled - and he kept mumbling that he 'fucked up'. Now, Chihiro was never one to be involved in personal lives, and by this point he really thought it would be better to hang up but then he hears something he recognised.
The man had sputtered out something about killing a man named Daiya, referring to him as his brother beforehand. Chihiro had only heard the name enough to know that he was the leader of a rather feared motorcycle gang, but Chihiro had never heard mention of a sibling. At first, he was scared, and he considered trying for the police, but something kept him listening.
He heard the man take a rattling breath, and then heard a harsh exhale, before he began speaking again. Now, he was explaining what had happened and Chihiro felt his heart twist in sympathy. The two siblings had agreed on a race, as the elder was retiring from the gang and passing down his title of leader on to his younger brother. The younger brother (whose name Chihiro still didn't know) had gotten arrogant, eager to best his brother for once, and had gotten too reckless, almost resulting in his death, before Daiya apparently pushed him out of harm's way.
This poor man's elder brother had died, and now he was talking to a complete stranger who he apparently thought was his best friend.
He was quiet after the man finished talking, and the only sound from the other side was the ragged breathing and soft sobs that still came through. Finally, he spoke, explaining that he was not the person that he had hoped for and that he was very sorry for the loss. He was quiet again before he made what could have turned out to be a very foolish decision.
He asked where the man was, as well as for his name, and the man - Mondo, he learned - gave them both in what sounded like a hollow tone. Chihiro said he would be there soon, and he hung up, before scrambling out of his bed and into some decent clothes. Within a couple minutes, he was out the door.
The next morning greeted Mondo with a pounding headache and a stab of grief from memories flooding back from last night. He didn't remember much after leaving the bar, as he had tried to get himself drunk enough to forget what had happened.
He groaned, sliding out from under his covers and looking around. Then, something caught his eye. A little notecard had been left on his nightstand. He picked it up, and squinted at the neatly written words on it.
'In case you need the wrong number again'
The words were followed by a phone number and the name 'Chihiro Fujisaki'. Mondo considered these for a moment, before sighing, setting the card back down and rising from his bed.